Liability
by Daria6
Summary: A crewmember's death divides the crew just when they most need to be united.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Liability  
Author: Daria  
Rating: PG-13  
Synopsis: The death of a crewmember divides the crew at a time when  
they most need to be united.

W  
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S  
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Warning: Death of an original character

Spoilers: Possible spoilers for anything through the first three  
seasons, although nothing I can think of specifically.

Beta: Surya kindly beta'ed this and made it much better, but then I  
made a significant revision, and undoubtedly added a lot of errors.

It was quiet, and, with most of the lights dimmed, the room was peaceful. The animals had been fed, so the chirping and chattering that made up the day-time soundtrack of sickbay were absent. Phlox bent over his microscope enjoying the peace and the opportunity to catch up on a little of the research for which he so seldom had time. He didn't need to sleep on the same schedule as his human colleagues, requiring only six days of hibernation a year, a difference for which he was quite grateful. How their species had advanced when they lost nearly a third of each day to unconsciousness was a mystery to him. He had learned to appreciate the hours the majority of the crew used to indulge in sleep, and the opportunities they afforded him.

Too soon the peaceful interlude came to an abrupt end. He hit the button next to him to stop the incessant buzzing of the intercom, and was assaulted by Commander Tucker's agitated voice. "Doctor! The away team is on the way in. They have injuries. The shuttlepod was hit by an asteroid, and they were bounced around pretty good. I don't know how badly they're hurt..."

"I understand, Commander. Can you find out if any of them are unconscious, and need to bypass decon?"

"Can't, Doc. They lost communications. We won't know anything until they dock. It'd be best if you met them in the launch bay. If it turns out they need isolation, we can always secure the bay, and vent the atmosphere to space later to clear out any bugs. "

"I'll do that, Commander." Flipping the intercom off, Phlox activated the sickbay lights, bringing them up to day-time brightness. He glanced around sickbay, making sure everything was in its accustomed place, so he wouldn't be scrambling to find equipment. He activated the imager and then put it in standby mode to save the time normally required for start up.

Grabbing a first aid kit, he headed toward the launch bay.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

The three person crew of Shuttlepod Two stumbled out of the little craft as a team, Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed supporting Ensign Carey between them. All three were coughing, and covered with soot. The trained physician's eyes took in the obvious signs of injury, as well as other details that a less astute observer might not have noted-- Archer leaning forward a little too far and holding his ribs, Lieutenant Reed's awkward movements as he tried not to jostle his left arm held in an improvised sling, and Ensign Carey's pale face. Phlox mentally prioritized the injuries, and began barking orders to the med team even before he had scanned the injured crew.

When Enterprise had begun its mission earlier than planned, and without a full medical staff, Phlox had quickly asked for, and received, permission to create a first response team from the security personnel and some of the scientists on board. Although Enterprise had since obtained two bona fide med techs, the wisdom of Phlox action had been proven on many occasions, and today was no exception. The first response team arrived mere seconds behind him, and went to assist Archer and Reed while Phlox assisted the ensign to a gurney. She gratefully accepted his help. Archer and Reed both declined the gurneys, protesting that they could walk. Phlox intervened, insisting that Archer accept the assistance, but allowing Reed to remain on his feet, knowing it would probably be more painful for the armory officer to lie on his obviously dislocated shoulder than to remain upright; the doctor made sure a med tech was close by, ready to lend support if needed.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Archer was first in the scanner- Phlox was concerned that the injured ribs might have punctured a lung. While the machine ran its tests, Lieutenant Reed filled him in on how the injuries had occurred- there had been a large jolt, as yet unexplained, and all three had been thrown forward. Archer, piloting the shuttlepod, had been tossed directly into a control console. Ensign Carey had standing behind the navigator's chair. The impact had thrown her into back into the cargo area, where she had landed on her back again their equipment. She had remained conscious, but had begun complaining of back pain soon after. Reed had been in the back of the shuttle, inspecting the cargo containers, and the jolt had tossed him against a corner of the container, most of his body missing it, but his shoulder taking the full impact. He had narrowly avoided having Ensign Carey land on top of him.

The accident had occurred nearly three hours ago. The impact had knocked out several of the shuttlepod's systems, and they'd had to make their way back to Enterprise at a crawl, unable to go to maximum velocity for fear of overstressing the little craft and uncovering more damage, Reed explained. They had used the non-narcotic painkillers in the shuttle's limited field kit, afraid that the more potent medications would interfere with their ability to pilot the shuttlepod, or to deal with any other emergencies might arise en route to the Enterprise. Reed had strapped the captain's ribs, and Archer had returned the favor, rigging the sling the armory officer wore.

"I'm going to give you both painkillers while you wait. I should be done with the captain's scans in a moment, and then I'll get to you," Phlox informed them.

"Of course, Doctor," Reed replied, sitting carefully on a biobed, making no quick moves that might jar the injured arm. Phlox knew the stoic armory officer was in more pain than he let on, and resolved to work as quickly as possible to get to him. He hoped Reed wasn't concealing more serious injuries, but knowing the armory officer's history he wasn't confident. He wanted him in the scanner quickly, concerned about the injuries he believed Reed might be hiding.

"Doctor, Ensign Carey isn't looking well," Reed drew Phlox's attention back to the young woman on the next biobed. She was quite pale, the doctor noted. She was moving restlessly on the biobed, seeming unable to get comfortable. She squirmed again, and gasped with pain, and then gestured at her back. "Doctor, my back really hurts, and I'm feeling sick."

"Hmmm. Well, I suppose that's understandable. As I understand it, you were thrown pretty hard and landed on your back. Are you experiencing any numbness or tingling in your fingers or toes?

Carey again shook her head no, her face a grimace. "The pain…it's getting worse…" she gasped. Phlox came over and quickly ran his hand down her spine. "Is this tender?" he asked pushing gently on her spine, and then using the hand scanner to look for a fracture.

"No… it's not there. I guess it's the muscles spasming," she replied.

"I believe you have some soft tissue damage. Your spine is intact. When I get you in the imaging chamber, I'll be able to see what damage has been done. In the meantime..." The doctor administered another hypospray, and then turned his attention back to the readings on Archer.

"Yes, just as I suspected, several cracked ribs." The tray holding his patient was slowly emerging from the imaging chamber as he spoke. "Captain, you'll be happy to know that your ribs are only cracked. I'll give you something for the pain, and wrap your ribs, and you can go to your quarters to rest."

"Thanks, Doc," Archer said, slowly climbing off the tray and moving awkwardly toward an unoccupied biobed. He paused, and looked at Reed and Carey, both still looking very uncomfortable. "How are you doing, Ensign? Lieutenant?"

"Fine, sir," Reed's reply was tight-lipped, and Archer could tell by the lines on the armory officer's face that he was lying. But the doctor would be taking care of him soon, so Archer didn't waste his breath arguing. He'd expressed his concern, and that was all he had the energy to do at the moment.

"And you, Ensign?"

"Fine, sir," Carey echoed Reed weakly. "Although my back..." she emitted a groan, "is really spasming..."

"Still?" Phlox looked mildly concerned. "Even after the analgesic I gave you? It should be killing most of the pain of a back sprain." Something tickled at the back of Phlox's mind, and he felt a momentary concern, but he couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him. He looked from the pale ensign to the armory officer, who was using his right hand to hold his left arm tightly against his side, trying to stabilize the joint.

"I'll scan Lt. Reed next, so I can put the shoulder back in joint. It should only take a moment," he told the two junior officers. As expected Reed protested that he could wait, but only weakly, the pain in his shoulder making it hard for him to focus on anything else. It was a slower process than Phlox had anticipated. With Reed's shoulder out of joint it was difficult to find a position on the imaging chamber tray that was tolerable, and it took a great deal of coaxing, combined with careful padding of the tray and additional pain medication before Reed was in position to be scanned. Knowing Reed's propensity for hiding injuries, the doctor was careful to conduct a thorough scan of the armory officer's entire body and was almost surprised to find no other injuries.

The tray was just being ejected from the chamber, when he heard a cry from behind him.

"Doctor!" Archer's voice was raised. "Something's wrong with Carey!"

Phlox hurried to the biobed and glanced quickly at the readings. Carey's vital signs had plummeted, and she was moaning with pain. "My back," she managed. "I feel's like something is ripping inside..." Gesturing to a med tech to carry the ensign to the imager, the doctor yanked Reed, who was slowly and groggily climbing off the tray, out of the way, eliciting a cry of pain from the armory officer. Depositing Carey on the tray, the doctor activated the imager, and watched with horror as the readings began scrolling across the monitor.

"Set up the surgical suite," Phlox snapped. The med tech looked at him questioningly. "She has an aortic rupture." The doctor was moving more quickly than any of the humans in the room had ever seen him move. The ensign was carried directly to the surgical suite, and the doors were closed, leaving Archer and Reed to stare after the medical team.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Phlox sat on a stool, staring at the sheet covered body. He had other things to do, tasks he knew he should be performing, but a terrible lethargy had come over him. He'd been a physician for many years, had seen many terrible injuries and serious illnesses, and had seen many patients die, beyond medical help. This case was different. Ensign Carey, like the rest of the Enterprise crew, was a friend as well as a patient. And this patient, this friend, might have been able to be saved.

He'd missed it, somehow. Ensign Carey had been in sickbay for an hour before she had crashed. He had wracked his brain, reliving every instant, second guessing every decision. Ensign Carey had complained of back pain, but she'd been stable! He was certain of it. Wasn't he? She had told him several times that her back hurt, and he knew she'd taken a severe impact to her back. Should that have been enough to clue him in? Had he really listened to her? When had he first checked her vital signs… was there a warning there, that he'd missed? Had he given enough credence to her complaint of pain? Had he perhaps been too dismissive? Certainly he had known she was injured, and had planned to do a thorough evaluation, but he had been concerned about Reed. And why was that? Certainly the lieutenant had given no concrete indication that he'd been suffering from any serious injury, other than his dislocated shoulder, a painful, but certainly not life-threatening, condition. Why had Phlox chosen to scan him first? Would scanning Ensign Carey earlier have made a difference? Her condition was one that was frequently fatal, even if caught early. She might very well have died anyway. But the delay had sealed her fate. By the time he had her on the operating table the rupture had progressed too far. Still he had tried to repair the damage, but she'd lost so much blood during the surgery that several transfusions had been required. Her body tried had tried to stem the bleeding, and when the clotting factors had been used up, she had begun to bleed more. He'd been unable to stem the flow. Shock had set in as well, and her kidneys and liver, deprived of adequate blood flow, had failed. Ultimately, the lack of adequate blood to the heart had damaged that organ as well. Her blood pressure, already critically low, had fallen even further. The doctor had countered with drugs, tried all the treatments available, but it was to no avail. The damage was simply too great. Jaylene Carey had died, never having regained consciousness after the surgery.

Phlox planned to review his records carefully, check the biobed monitors and records to see what signs he might have missed that should have warned him of the looming disaster. The records might bear out that he had made proper decisions, that there had been nothing to tell him that she was so catastrophically injured, but the records couldn't show what had been going on inside Phlox head, what biases he might have had that had effected his decisions. Her prognosis had been dismal from the moment she'd been injured, Phlox knew, but what slim chance she'd had left, his delay had stolen from her.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I realized as I read this, there are spoilers for several episodes, but I can't remember precisely which season they occurred in, so I apologize if I spoil any for anyone. Reader beware. Thanks for the kind reviews. Knowing people are reading makes the writing go faster.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Phlox rose from his stool with a heavy sigh. He'd been sitting, nearly motionless, for the last thirty minutes. He had not left Ensign Carey's side from the moment he realized the seriousness of her condition until he pronounced her death. Even now, he was finding it difficult to leave her side. He had sent a tech to wrap Archer's ribs, and to give Reed a potent painkiller until he could put the injured shoulder back in joint. The tech had reported back that Tucker and T'Pol were also waiting; Phlox had sent word to the bridge shortly after starting the surgery that Ensign Carey's condition was critical, and they had come to sickbay as soon as they could leave the bridge. Now Phlox had to deliver the bad news. He was tempted to wait, find some other task that needed doing, but he would have to face them eventually. He was exhausted, but he still had patients to care for and the news wasn't going to get better with time.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Archer sat up on the biobed as the doctor entered. T'Pol had returned to the bridge, but Trip was sitting next to him. Archer knew immediately that the news was bad. He'd never seen the doctor look so... distraught. Not when Trip had been so badly injured he would have died without the creation of a clone that had supplied needed neural tissue, not when they had found 'Travis' dead, not ever. No matter how bad the situation, how sad the case, never before had he seen this particular expression on the physician's face.

"Doctor?" Trip spoke first, and Archer could hear in his tone that the engineer also knew the news was bad.

"I'm sorry. Ensign Carey has died. I repaired the injury, but the damage had been done. The trauma was too great." The doctor took a deep breath before delivering the next piece of information. "I didn't catch the injury in time. If I had, she might have survived."

There was silence as the captain and Trip tried to absorb the doctor's pronouncement. They had known Carey's condition was critical, but they had become accustomed to the doctor pulling injured crewmen back from death's door on a regular basis. The temptation to reassure the doctor was nearly overwhelming, but one glance at Phlox's face told them their words would be futile. The doctor was not the sort who took responsibility for things that were not his fault. Sometimes he hadn't known how to treat an injury, or there was no treatment available, and he had grieved for his patients, but never before had he claimed that his negligence had led to a death.

"I'm sure you did the best you could," Archer finally said, feeling he had to say something.

"Yes, I did. Once I diagnosed the problem. But that was an hour after your return. Nearly four hours after she was injured. If I had her in surgery first..." Phlox shook his head, then turned away to gather up supplies he was going to need.

The conversation had woken Reed. The armory officer was listening, the look of grogginess disappearing, replaced by a look of consternation. "Doctor, are you saying-"

"Mr. Reed. I'm sorry you've had to wait. I can fix your shoulder now." The doctor moved to his side.

"Wait. I need to ask you a few questions first-" Reed began, but Archer intervened. "Malcolm, let the doctor take care of your shoulder first. Other matters can wait." The captain was firm. He knew what Reed wanted to discuss, and now was not the time. The doctor was obviously devastated and in no condition for questioning, and Reed was not in any condition to conduct an official interview.

But, eventually, the questions would come.

Reed nodded, acknowledging the captain's instructions, and allowed the doctor to treat him. But when Phlox stepped closer to administer the medicine that would make the procedure nearly painless, he couldn't miss the accusation in the armory officer's eyes.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Captain, I need to speak with you."

Archer looked up from his breakfast. He met the concerned gaze of his armory officer. He gestured for Reed to take a seat, noting the sling that held Reed's left arm still.

"I think I can guess what this is about," Archer began quietly. "I'd like to wait until after the memorial service before pursuing... other issues."

"Yes, sir," Reed said, obviously uncomfortable with that option. "But, in the meantime, ... he's practicing medicine. And, with respectful sir, he doesn't seem to be in a proper mental state to do so."

"Do you have any specific examples, any evidence his patients are at risk? Or is this just a hypothetical concern? An understandable one," Archer hastened to add when Reed's face darkened, not wanting Reed to think he wasn't being taken seriously.

"No, nothing specific, sir... it's just…" Malcolm trailed off, unable to put his concerns into words. Normally, when he came to Archer with a request, he had very clear concerns, and presented them logically. Archer was a little surprised that Malcolm would have brought up the issue without having his arguments precisely laid out.

"The service is this afternoon, Malcolm. Let it rest until then. Tomorrow, you can start a full investigation."

"Sir, what if someone becomes ill in the interim? He'd--

"What if someone was hurt, Malcolm? It's not like we have anyone else available to treat the crew. Regardless of the outcome, Phlox will remain our doctor as long as we're weeks away from Earth.

Reed fell silent. Archer waited for him to respond, knowing it was the armory officer's nature to pursue the matter vigorously. But this was going to be nasty. No matter how the investigation turned out the process would be ugly, and, once started, irreversible. Archer had the sinking realization that the atmosphere of easy collegiality that he had worked so hard to nurture on his ship was about to change. To the captain's surprise, Reed just gave a curt nod.

"May I be dismissed, sir?"

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant. And Malcolm? I take your concerns seriously. The memorial service is this afternoon. Just leave this one more day."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Archer closed the comm line to Earth. It had taken Hoshi most of the morning to establish the link, and even then it had been full of static. Still, he had been able to pass his grim message to Admiral Forest. The admiral would contact Ensign Carey's family, and transmit the message Archer had prepared for them. He would also notify all the relevant Starfleet authorities, so that Carey's family would receive all the support and help they might need in dealing with her death. In the meantime, the admiral had conceded, despite the fact that the doctor was profoundly upset, there was no choice but to keep Phlox at his duties. The Enterprise was alone.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Doctor."

Phlox looked up at the summons. Reed was standing in sickbay's door, not quite having crossed the threshold, clearly reluctant to enter.

"Ahh, Lieutenant. Come in," Phlox smiled at Reed, but his smile was sad. "What can I do for you?"

Reed didn't return the smile. "Doctor, I'm here on official business. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Phlox nodded. "I thought that might be the case. Go ahead, Lieutenant. Ask your questions."

Reed looked uncomfortable. "Is there a place we could perhaps sit? This might take some time."

"Of course. There is a table with stools in my lab. Would that be acceptable?"

"Certainly," Reed replied. He was clearly tense, and a small part of Phlox was glad. He thought he knew what was coming, and Reed should be uncomfortable. A small part of Phlox was angry with the lieutenant, and at the investigation Reed was conducting. After all, he had had to make split second decisions, without time to fully gather all the information needed. He had feared Archer had a collapsed lung, or worse was developing a tension pneumothorax, a life-threatening emergency, and he had thought Reed might be bleeding internally. Although to be honest, there had been no indication that it was the case—it had been Phlox suspicion, based on his knowledge of Reed's personality. And he had based his decisions on that knowledge, rather than Ensign Carey's complaint of pain. For just an instant, Phlox wanted to blame the lieutenant. If he could have trusted Reed's word that the lieutenant was not further injured, he would have evaluated Ensign Carey first. Then Phlox shook his head, dismissing the thought. He couldn't blame Reed for being who he was, nor could he place the responsibility for his decisions at the lieutenant's feet.

In awkward silence the two men took seats on the stools. Reed placed a small recording device on the table. He cleared his throat before he began to speak, without looking at Phlox. "This is an interview with Dr. Phlox, regarding the death of Ensign Jaylene Carey. The date is…" Phlox listened as Reed spoke in a monotone, recording the particulars of the interview, listing the date, location, and who was present. When he had completed the mundane routine, he finally shot a glance toward Phlox.

"Doctor, please state the cause of Ensign Carey's death."

"Ensign Carey died of the complications of an aortic rupture that was a result of blunt trauma in a shuttlepod accident."

"Please explain what that means doctor." Reed listened as Phlox described, in layman's terms what an aortic rupture was, how it was frequently immediately fatal, but how in a few cases the rupture was not complete—the outermost lining of the aorta remaining intact, creating a short period of time in which the patient could be saved. The doctor explained the signs, the surgical treatment, and the complications Ensign Carey has suffered. Finally, when Reed had pulled from the doctor every detail of Phlox actions and decision making process, he paused. He leaned forward, meeting the doctor's gaze directly for the first time since the interview had begun. In a low tone, practically spitting out the words, he asked, "Doctor, was Ensign Carey's death preventable?"

Meeting the gaze head on, steeling him self again the coldness in the lieutenant's eyes, Phlox gave the most honest answer he could.

"I don't know."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Archer read the dispatch for the third time, and then slammed the padd down on the desk so hard that Porthos, dozing in the corner, jumped. Archer stabbed the intercom button.

"Archer to Lieutenant Reed."

"Yes, sir?"

"Lieutenant, I want to see you in my ready room. Now."

In the two minutes it took Reed to arrive, Archer took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself, reminding himself that his armory officer was not normally prone to acts of incredible stupidity. When this didn't work, he rose and began pacing. There had to be some reason for Reed's actions, however insane they might seem. When the door chimed, Archer hit the button to open it without breaking stride.

Reed entered the ready room, and stood at attention in front of Archer's desk, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the captain's constant movement. "Lieutenant Reed reporting as ordered, sir." Clearly Reed knew that Archer had not called him here for a casual conversation; something serious was going on. Archer immediately validated that belief.

"Why, Malcolm?"

"Sir?"

"Why? Why did you send Admiral Forest a report on Phlox without clearing it with me first?"

"Sir..." Reed suddenly looked distressed. "I did clear it with you. It was in the weekly security report, which you sign off on each week prior to its being transmitted."

Did Reed sound, just slightly, accusing? Archer stopped pacing and spun around to stare at the lieutenant, but Reed was looking straight ahead, his face blank, with no suggestion of arrogance or accusation. Nonetheless, Reed had backed him into a corner. He could hardly admit that he had gotten so tired of the armory officer's constant harping on the ship's security failings that he barely skimmed the security reports. Occasionally he would look to see how Reed had interpreted some event or other during the week--he had especially enjoyed the armory officer's description of a brawl between two drunk crewman returning from shore leave that had resulted in both spending a night in the brig, as a "resolved confrontation"-- but he had to admit that at this point he read the reports more for entertainment value than information, not mentally thinking of approving or disproving them. And, in all honesty, he had forgotten the reports were transmitted to Starfleet. Until today.

"Lieutenant, I just received a message from Admiral Forest wanting to know how I planned to administer juris prudence out here, how I was going to provide Phlox with counsel, as required under our treaty with Denobula, and what I planned to do for a doctor during the trial and after, if Phlox was convicted. Imagine my surprise at learning I'd charged Phlox with manslaughter."

Reed shifted uncomfortably. "I never said you charged him with manslaughter, sir. I merely recommended that be the charge, based on my investigation."

"Malcolm, since when do you know enough about medicine to conduct such an investigation?"

Reed stiffened, drawing himself up a little taller. "Sir, I have consulted several experts on Earth, via subspace, and I've done research on the ship's medical database. All my sources seem to agree that Phlox should have suspected that Ensign Carey was seriously injured, and he should have seen to her injuries immediately. If he had, she might not have died. As a physician, he fell short of what was expected of him. His negligence caused her death."

For a moment Archer didn't speak, just studied the armory officer standing at attention. Reed believed what he was saying. He might not be right, but he whole-heartedly believed it. Archer knew he needed to step carefully here. It wouldn't do to be second guessing his officers. And Malcolm might be right. Archer had had every intention of seeing that a complete investigation was conducted into the matter-- he just hadn't wanted to rush it. He had even considered waiting until they had completed this mission, and returned to Earth, although that wouldn't be for months. But Malcolm had forced his hand. And technically he had gone through the proper channels. Archer couldn't even reprimand him.

But there was more to it than just an investigation, Archer thought. Malcolm was taking this whole situation much too personally. Archer knew Malcolm had grown close to Ensign Carey, as he had with all the armory crew. But it was more than that. The armory officer clearly believed Phlox had committed a crime, and Archer wanted to know why.

"Lieutenant, I'd like to see the results of your full investigation, before I decide how I'm going to precede."

"Sir. As the senior officer, you will be the presiding judge in any proceedings. It wouldn't be proper, or fair to Dr. Phlox, for you to be prejudiced by having seen the investigation before it is determined if the evidence is even admissible."

Damn. Malcolm was right. The captain sighed. He would have to appoint someone to represent Phlox, and fast, and to hold a hearing- Malcolm wasn't going to let this go. Besides, Archer knew Malcolm was technically correct. But he still wished he knew why his armory officer was taking this so personally. Surely Malcolm didn't want to see anything bad happen to the doctor. He couldn't possibly actually blame Phlox for the Ensign's death. Archer, too had been on the shuttlepod, had accompanied Carey back, had been with her in the last moments of her life. And while he deeply wished things had turned out differently, wished the doctor had made the diagnosis more quickly, he knew hindsight was twenty-twenty, and that being an officer on a starship was an inherently dangerous profession. Ensign Carey's death had been tragic, but he didn't blame Phlox. Why did Malcolm?

(TBC)


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Wow. I didn't realize it had been more than a year since I'd updated this. I keep meaning to post, and I've actually worked on it and expanded it. But it hasn't really met my satisfaction, so I had delayed posting. Well, I've decided that I'm just going to post it, because it really bugs me that I haven't ever finished it. If I need to revise and expand it in the future, so be it. So... this chapter is up, and the next is about ready, so it won't be a long delay between this chapter and the next. I can't promise anything about the one after that.

* * *

Three days later Reed returned to Archer's office, padd in hand. The armory officer was grim. He'd commed Archer earlier in the day, requesting an appointment with the captain, and the formality of the request had clued Archer in that Reed would be delivering what he considered bad news. As usual, Reed was prompt. At exactly 1500, the door to Archer's ready room chimed. Returning the formality, Archer called, "Come in."

Reed took the three steps that carried him across the small room, drew himself up to a position of attention, and snapped a salute. "Lieutenant Reed reporting as ordered, sir."

Archer ignored the obvious retort that he hadn't ordered this meeting—he had simply agreed to the meeting-- and instead, returned the salute. "At ease, Lieutenant. You've requested this meeting. What's on your mind?"

"I have the results of my investigation into the death of Ensign Carey," Reed said. "Would you like to hear them, or would you prefer to just read the report?" Reed was tense, and Archer suspected he would prefer to be allowed to let the written report stand on its own, but Archer wanted to hear Reed's verbal report. He wanted the chance to question the armory officer, and to hear his thinking.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant. I'd like a verbal report, please, and then I'll look at the written report before it's sent to Starfleet.

Reed nodded, and Archer though he'd relaxed slightly at the mention of sending the report to Starfleet. Confirmation that his concerns were being taken seriously, perhaps?

The lieutenant took a seat, his posture stiff. Archer waited.

"Sir, my investigation has shown that Ensign Carey's condition was very serious, potentially life-threatening from the moment it occurred. It is possible that she would have died, even if she'd been rushed directly from the shuttle bay to surgery. However, the fact that she didn't receive immediate treatment virtually assured her death. She was denied her one chance. Phlox made a serious medical error in not treating her first." Reed paused and took a deep breath. "I can't say with certainty that Phlox caused, or even significantly contributed to, Ensign Carey's death. However, there is enough evidence that he did that this needs to proceed to a hearing, at a minimum. Ensign Carey deserves that much." Reed stopped. He gazed silently at Archer, not moving, his face a blank mask. Nothing about him gave any indication that he had an opinion on this issue one way or the other.

Archer couldn't help but wonder. The armory officer was gazing at him, giving nothing away, but Archer couldn't forget how adamant Reed had been earlier about launching an investigation.

Archer gave a mental sigh. It didn't really matter what Reed's personal motivations might be. Archer was sure he had done a thorough, professional investigation, as much as his limited medical knowledge would allow. To make a final determination would require people with expertise in that area, who could rehash the data that had been available, and make their proclamations. Phlox would be second guessed by Monday morning quarterbacks, many of whom had never served on a Starship, and wouldn't understand the unique pressures involved. In many ways it didn't seem the best way to resolve the issue. But, Archer had to admit that Reed was right- Ensign Carey, and the rest of the crew for that matter, deserved the issue to be decided by impartial personnel.

But it still felt wrong.

* * *

Ah-choo! The sneeze shattered the silence on the bridge. Archer sighed. There had been a string of sneezes coming from the tactical station over the last few hours, and it had gotten tiresome. Ensigns Sato and Mayweather were giggling, and he was pretty sure they were passing messages on their consoles, making wagers on when the next sneeze would come-- he had caught a glimpse of Mayweather's console with a dollar amount and time displayed on it. Archer couldn't really blame them.

Ah-choo!

Archer saw Hoshi grin widely, and Travis shot her a disappointed look, and then typed something rapidly into his console, and any doubts Archer had about how they were entertaining themselves disappeared.

Archer turned to study Reed, who had his head ducked over his console, pretending nothing was wrong. Moving slowly, not wanting to draw attention, Archer went to the tactical station.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Yes, sir. Just a touch of allergies."

Realization hit Archer. "I'd like to see you in my ready room."

"Now, sir?"

"Yes. Right now." To Travis he called, "Mr. Mayweather, you have the bridge."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman called, as the confused armory officer trailed after the captain. The moment the doors to the ready room closed behind them, Archer whirled on his unsuspecting officer. "When was the last time you had your allergy shots?"

For a moment, Reed dropped his head, and then he lifted it, staring at Archer defiantly. "It's been two weeks. Sir."

"Why?"

"I've chosen to discontinue treatment."

"You've what?"

"I have chosen to discontinue treatment. It's my choice, Captain. Allergies are not life threatening, the treatment is just a convenience--"

"Seems like a bit more than a convenience to me. You're sneezing your fool head off. What if we had to go on a mission that required stealth?"

"I have tablets I can take, sir. The side effects can be unpleasant, so I don't take them unless I need them."

"And you don't need them now?"

"Sir... it's just a little sneezing."

At a loss, Archer stared at him. "But Malcolm... why would you put up with it when you don't have to?"

Malcolm looked away, and then back at Archer. He didn't seem so defiant now. "Allergy shots are not without possible complications. I don't want to risk it any longer."

Archer didn't respond, just continued gazing at Malcolm until the other man dropped his gaze. "So this has nothing to do with not wanting to be treated by Dr. Phlox."

Archer was certain Malcolm would deny this, and was surprised at Malcolm's next words.

"It has everything to do with not wanting to be treated by Dr. Phlox. Until it has been proven to my satisfaction that he is competent to treat humans, I would prefer not to be under his care."

"Not even just for allergy treatments?"

"No."

And despite Archer's best efforts, he could not change Reed's mind.

* * *

Malcolm sat on the biobed in sickbay, holding his side, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his side, and mentally cursing the captain's insistence that he come here. Archer stood by the biobed, enforcing his order.

"I'm fine, sir. I don't need to be here."

"Malcolm, your lips are blue. You are not fine. Until the doctor tells me you're fine, you're staying here."

"Sir... I will not allow him to treat me, and with all due respect, you cannot order me to accept medical treatment."

Archer remained silent, trying to remain outwardly impassive despite his growing anger. Malcolm was correct. He couldn't order him to accept treatment. He could require that he be evaluated for fitness for duty, however. He was about to point this out to Reed, when Phlox arrived at the biobed.

"What happened, Lieutenant?"

"I was slammed against the control console in Shuttlepod One when the anomaly expanded."

Phlox scanned him without meeting his eyes. "Hmmm. Well, you've cracked two ribs. No other damage, though. I'll give you something for the pain, and wrap the ribs for you, and then--"

"No." Malcolm had slid off the bed, still keeping his left arm tightly pressed against his aching ribs. "Captain, I've been evaluated. I decline any further treatment. I have some aspirin in my quarters."

Archer kept his voice calm as he replied smoothly, "Fine. I'll see you on the bridge in ten minutes. Your uniform is torn, Lieutenant. Take care of it."

Malcolm's jaw dropped. Archer was sending him immediately back to duty? Even though the ship was moving smoothly through space, with no threat in the area, he was going to require Malcolm to return to duty?"

"Captain, the lieutenant should take a day or two to rest--"

"The lieutenant insists he's fine and doesn't need any treatment. In that case, he should be on the bridge. It is his duty shift." Archer strolled toward the exit, calling back over his shoulder, "Ten minutes, Lieutenant."

"I don't understand, Lieutenant. I'm sorry. You really should rest." Phlox looked sad, and for a moment Reed pitied him. And then his heart hardened, as he remembered Phlox puttering around, ignoring Carey's deteriorating condition.

"It's not your concern, Doctor." Reed moved gingerly but with purpose as he exited sickbay. He only had eight more minutes.

Archer paced around the bridge. Nothing of interest was really happening right now. Hoshi was working on some routine translations, occasionally shooting worried glances at Reed. Mayweather was all but asleep at the helm. T'Pol was doing-- well, who knew what, but it was keeping her occupied. Reed was sitting at the tactical console, pushing buttons, his task as nebulous as T'Pol's.

"Mr. Reed, anything close to us?"

"No, sir."

"Good. You were talking about doing some testing on the phaser targeting software. Wouldn't this be an ideal time?"

"Yes, sir." The words were spoken slowly, drawn out, as though Reed regretted having to say them. Archer knew why. To test the targeting software, Reed would need to go down to the armory and use the controls there. It wasn't normally a strenuous task, but required moving around the armory, as monitors were cross-checked, and new settings entered manually into various systems. Not enough exercise to even be noticed normally, but with freshly cracked ribs the movement would be very uncomfortable. But Reed was insisting he didn't need treatment. Fine. Then he needed to do his job. On some level Archer knew he'd been pulled into a childish battle of wills, and seeing how pale Reed was he almost rescinded the order-- but then he remembered the hurt look on Phlox face when Reed had refused to let the doctor treat him, and Archer hardened his will.

"Then let's get that done."

Reed rose slowly. He understood perfectly what the captain was doing, and his own stubborn streak asserted itself. He pulled himself up to his full height, and strode from the bridge into the lift, maintaining his impeccable posture-- until the doors closed. He crumbled against the side of the lift, resting, and trying to only take shallow breaths until the door opened again. Once more he pulled himself upright, and with his head high made his way to the armory.

* * *

Phlox paced the perimeter of sickbay, checking on his animals, checking supplies, and stopping occasionally to tidy some spot that didn't really need it. He was trying to keep his mind off the upcoming hearing, and off the fact that he had no patients. Hadn't had any in two days. The routine ones that had been long-scheduled had slowly been cancelled, as the crew came up with an assortment of creative excuses to miss them. Worse, Phlox had seen crewmembers with assorted minor injuries that had not come to sickbay. He suspected they were going to Crewman Cutler on the sly.

It hurt.

He tried to tell himself that it was only natural. The fact that the human crew had accepted an alien doctor so readily had been a surprise to him. Oh, there had been a few hesitant crew members at first, and some who had been particulary skittish about Phlox unusual brand of medicine and the use of living creatures, but once he had proven himself that had disappeared. In fact, for a species making their first foray into the deep space, they had been amazingly accepting. That he had gotten so used to their acceptance made this rejection hurt all the more. And the fact that it was a member of the senior staff, a man he respected and trusted, that had ostracized him bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Oh, he knew it was Reed's grief over losing his friend that had started the problem, but still he suspected there must be something more to it. That Starfleet was acquiescing to the request for the hearing was even more surprising. Phlox was tempted to resign his position, return to Denobula-- but here in the expanse that wasn't a possibility. And he knew that even though they had turned on him, he wouldn't turn on them. His ethics wouldn't allow it.

Well, if the crew wouldn't let him treat them, he would use the time to catch up on his research. He pulled the microscope closer, and adjusted the slide on it. Peering into the device he began making annotations into his padd, but his heart wasn't in the job. When the door to sickbay slid open he was relieved to break away from the task.

"Ah, Commander Tucker. How can I help you this evening?"

Trip looked around nervously. "I was sorta wondering if Ensign Cutler was around."

Phlox face fell. He turned back toward his microscope. "She is working in the exobiology lab this week. I haven't needed her. I'm sure you can find her there. I hope you aren't too badly hurt."

"Too badly... what?" Realization dawned on Trip. "Doctor, I'm not hurt. I just wanted to ask Elizabeth what movie she'd like for Tuesday. I promised her she could pick this one." Trip came further into sickbay, walking over to the doctor's lab bench. When the doctor didn't look up at him, Trip leaned against the bench, facing the doctor next to him. "It's been a rough week, I guess."

Phlox didn't look up, so Trip couldn't read his eyes. "The crew has been hesitant to come to me for treatment. It's understandable."

"No, it isn't."

Phlox looked up at the unexpected statement, but he didn't have a reply.

"The way they're treating you isn't right, Doc, and there's no need for you to go excusing them. They're upset, and scared, but they know it wasn't your fault. Malcolm has them all riled up. I'd kick his tail for doing this, if I could, but he's followed all the rules to a tee, so I can't. But I want you to know that it isn't right, and we don't all feel that way. It's just been a light week."

"I hear Ensign Cutler is running a clinic out of xenobiology."

"That's an exaggeration, and she doesn't want to do it. She tells everybody they're crazy, that you're the best doctor they could have. She's given out a few bandages, but that's it. Most people agree with me and her anyway."

Phlox hesitated before asking the next question. "Commander... why is Lieutenant Reed so adamant that I'm a criminal?"

Trip sighed. "I don't know. I'd tell you if I did, but I really have no idea. He's... well, he's just gotten this notion in his head, and you know Malcolm—once he gets something in his head, he just gets carried away."

"I see."

"Don't take it personally, Doc. It would be the same with anyone. And once you've been cleared, I'm sure things will get back to normal."

"If I'm cleared. Right now, I'm not so certain. I DID err in putting the Ensign last in the triage I conducted. I didn't listen to her, and if I had, I might have been able to save her. Her odds would have been much better, at the very least."

Trip looked a little startled, and the doctor noted it. "You weren't aware of that, were you, Commander? Once all the facts are out, you may change your opinion about how I should be treated."

Trip flushed, but stood his ground. "I don't care what the outcome is, Doc. You're my doctor, no matter what. I've seen you work, and I know you're a great doctor. I don't know why Malcolm isn't seeing it that way, but if he gives you any more trouble, you let me know, and I'll give him a swift kick in the butt."

"Ah, yes, that will certainly change his opinion, won't it? No, Commander, the lieutenant is entitled to his opinions. I'd rather you didn't interfere. We'll work this out."


	4. Chapter 4

Archer tapped the pause button on his monitor, and then rewound it and listened again to Admiral Forest's message. He composed his reply, and took a moment to prepare himself. He hit the resume button.

"Sir, I received your message and understand. I will make the arrangements per your instructions and will provide you with a daily update." Archer paused. "Sir, as you know this is going to be difficult on the entire crew. Regardless of the outcome, there are certain to be lasting tensions. I'm requesting that Enterprise be granted permission to take some R and R at the first appropriate location we find following these events. Archer out." Archer hit the transmit button, and sat back, knowing it would be several hours before his message reached Earth.

Archer tapped the pause button on his monitor, and then rewound it and listened again to Admiral Forest's message. He composed his reply, and took a moment to prepare himself. He hit the resume button.

"Sir, I received your message and understand. I will make the arrangements per your instructions and will provide you with a daily update." Archer paused. "Sir, as you know this is going to be difficult on the entire crew. Regardless of the outcome, there are certain to be lasting tensions. I'm requesting that Enterprise be granted permission to take some R and R at the first appropriate location we find following these events. Archer out." Archer hit the transmit button, and sat back, knowing it would be several hours before his message reached Earth. He pushed himself away from his desk, and leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his head, turning his gaze to the ceiling, reflecting. After several moments of contemplation, he sat forward again, and tapped the intercom and spoke.

Seven minutes later by his chronometer the three senior officers had arrived Archer looked up from his desk as they filed into the room. T'Pol, Reed, and Trip watched him carefully, unsure of why they'd been summoned. Archer rose. He put them at ease, and then shoved three pads forward before speaking.

"Thank you all for coming. I've been communicating with Starfleet, and we've been given some new orders."

"Finally!" Trip exclaimed. "I've been bored silly just orbiting that big, old red giant."

Archer shook his head. "This is a little different, Trip. We're not going anywhere just yet." Archer shook his head. "I just received a communiqué from Starfleet," he told them. "Lieutenant Reed, Starfleet Legal received your report, reviewed it, and have decided we will hold a modified Article 32 hearing here, on Enterprise. If the evidence warrants, they'll proceed with court martial proceedings. We will act as court officers, with crewman as jury. I'll be the presiding judge. Trip, I'm going to have you defend Phlox, Malcolm you're going to prosecute. T'Pol, you're going to oversee the protocol, act as my assistant researching any issues related to proper procedure."

Reed and Tucker were both shaking there heads in negation, Archer noted with vague amusement. He had anticipated this.

"Sir, I can't defend Phlox! I'm no lawyer. He deserves someone who knows what they're doing!" Trip declared.

"And I'm no prosecutor," Malcolm's protest was nearly simultaneous. He didn't want to be a prosecutor. He had just wanted Ensign Carey's death to be investigated,

T'Pol had remained silent. She waited until the other two were done speaking. "Does Phlox know?"

"Yes. I've informed him. And as to being real prosecutor and defense attorneys, understand this is a hearing. If Phlox is cleared, he'll be cleared. If adequate proof of his guilt is found, we'll return to earth, and there will be a real trial. Starfleet is relying on the good sense of the people on board this ship to make a fair decision. No court room tricks, just laying out the facts, and the defense. Now, Malcolm you've had plenty of opportunity to build a case, but Trip is going to need time to catch up. Please provide him all the information you've collected."

Malcolm nodded. "Of course, sir. But sir, I can't present the case against Phlox… I'm a witness," he tried grasping at straws.

"You're the best person to present the case." Archer told him. "You've done all the investigation and research. Don't worry about being a witness. Like I said, this is a hearing. If we needed to go to a trial, Phlox would have a real lawyer and a real prosecutor,"

Malcolm nodded unhappily.

"Of course, since Phlox is not a member of Starfleet, they don't really have full authority, so a full court martial would probably never be held. Most likely he would be returned to Denobula, and would never be allowed to return to Earth; Denobula could make him stand trial here, but… it seems unlikely," Archer added

"Well, no disrespect, Captain, but that being the case, why are we bothering?" Trip put in.

"Because Trip, if he has committed malpractice, or is deemed to have been involved in any wrongdoing, he would not be allowed to continue on Enterprise, or in any other role as a physician on Earth. On the other hand, if he is cleared, he can continue as the Enterprise's physician."

"I still think this is all a load of…." Trip broke off, and turned to shoot Malcolm a glare before continuing, "Phlox is a great doc. We all know that. This is a waste of time!"

"Trip-" Archer began, but before he could complete the thought he was interrupted.

"That's easy for you to say, Commander. You weren't there, and you haven't done the research. Maybe Phlox did everything right, maybe not. But Ensign Carey deserves justice, and Starfleet agrees." Malcolm's tone was level, but his eyes were flashing with emotion. Before things could get any more heated Archer intervened.

"Malcolm's right, Trip. Starfleet has ordered a hearing, and they're going to have a hearing.

Both officers still looked unhappy, but Archer was tired of discussing the issue. "Enough. We've been ordered by Starfleet to do this, and we're going to. And we're going to do it in exactly one week. I want this business finished, one way or the other. The only reason I'm waiting a week, is to give you-" he pointed at Trip, "time to prepare. We're in a quiet area right now. I suggest you both get to work. T'Pol will be a resource for both of you." Archer gestured at the padds. "The protocols are right there, as is some additional information Starfleet might be helpful." Archer paused, and the three officers stared at him wordlessly. "I suggest you get to work," he told them. "Dismissed."

_One week later_

Archer strode into the mess hall, _cum_ courtroom. Malcolm looked up from the table where he was sitting, and, seeing his captain enter, jumped to his feet. "As you were," Archer said, and then glanced at Trip on the other side of the room, also on his feet. Both officers sat, and Archer strolled around the room, examining the layout. After much discussion with Starfleet, the format of the hearing had been determined. Archer would preside and would make the final recommendation to Starfleet, but there would be a three-person "jury" that would make a recommendation, which Archer, and no doubt Starfleet, would heavily consider. If they determined there was ample evidence of Phlox guilt, a full trial would be held. Archer dearly hoped that would not be necessary, but at this point he really didn't know. He had assiduously avoided any discussion of the case, and he after the initial reading of Malcolm's report, which had been transmitted to Starfleet, he had not looked at any reports or information about the case, wanting to remain as unbiased as possible. The panel had been chosen at random, and was made up of two men and a woman. The woman, Ensign Haley, worked in logistics. The other two panel members were a crewman who worked in engineering and a petty officer from the biological sciences division. Archer had done a quick screen to make sure that none of the three had strong ties to any of the involved parties, or other strong biases, and he was satisfied that the panel would be fair.

The small mess hall had been transformed. There were tables for both the prosecuting and defending officers and another table for Archer, facing the other two. Off to the side a fourth table had been set up for the panel. Recording devices were ready. Padds had been placed where the panel would sit, so exhibits could be transmitted for their viewing. Finally, opposite the panel were a few chairs for the crew. The hearing would be "open", but most members of the crew would be busy with their daily duties. However, Archer wanted this hearing to be conducted as transparently as possible, so he had made allowances so that a few crewmembers could be present throughout the hearing.

The hearing was scheduled to begin at 0800 ship's time, and it was now 0745. Archer was not surprised that both Trip and Malcolm were already at their seats, and based on the half-empty coffee mug on Trip's table, they probably had been for some time. Both appeared tired, and Archer knew that both were feeling the strain. Seeing that they were busy working, he didn't try to talk with them, but let them continue with their preparations. Trip had risen again and was now pacing, muttering softly to himself, rehearsing, while Malcolm sat with his head over his padd, studying it intently.

Archer went to his table and picked up the padd there and began reviewing the procedure. A crewman appeared almost magically with a steaming cup of coffee, which Archer accepted gratefully, giving an appreciative nod to the crewman, who quickly retreated. He took a moment to savor the hot beverage, and then returned to studying the padd. It was only a few moments before the door to the mess opened, and Phlox entered.

"Captain," the doctor greeted him politely before joining Trip at the defense table. He nodded politely to Malcolm in passing, and the armory officer nodded back, before dropping his eyes to his padd again. Within a few moments the three members of the panel entered, followed closely by a few members of the crew who took the remaining seats. When they were all settled, Archer glanced at his chronometer. It was 0758. Close enough. Archer cleared his voice, and when everyone in the room looked up he asked, "Shall we begin?"

"Aye, Sir," Trip replied.

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm echoed.

"Very well. I'll go briefly over the format, although you are all aware of it. I want to reminder everyone that this is not a trial. It is a hearing to determine if there is sufficient evidence of guilt to proceed to a trial. The panel-" here Archer nodded at Ensign Haley, Crewman Kirt, and Petty Officer Royal, "will make a recommendation which will be transmitted to Starfleet, along with my recommendation. We will follow common rules of order, but there will not be strict courtroom rules. The prosecution-" Archer tipped his head toward Malcolm, "will begin with a brief presentation of their findings in the investigation into Ensign Carey's death. The defense will then provide a brief response. After that the prosecution will call any witnesses they need to, and provide any evidence they need to. The defense will be able to question the witnesses. Then the defense will provide any additional testimony, witnesses, or evidence and the prosecution can question them. After that, each side will be allowed to sum up their positions. Now, we're all going to play fair, and I don't anticipate this will take more than two days. Are we all clear on how we're going to proceed?"

They all nodded. Archer took his position and with a deep sigh surveyed the courtroom his mess hall had become. He had a vague sense of worry, a dread of what was likely to come over the next several days. No matter the outcome of this hearing, his crew had already been damaged. He'd heard the whispers, seen the signs of division, the way the crew was dividing into two factions. How had it come to this? A brief flash of anger at Malcolm, and his insistence on pursuing what Archer believed to be a frivolous case, washed over Archer, and he had to look away from the table where Reed sat, take a deep breath, and regain control. Regardless of his feelings, he had to make sure the proceedings were fair and balanced- for Ensign Carey as well as for Phlox. The hearing was likely to be emotional enough—he had to keep his own feelings out of the mix. Surveying the room one last time, he set things irrevocably in motion with a simple, "Shall we begin?"


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: I forgot to add an author's note to the last chapter until it had been posted. However, I meant to thank anyone who is still reading this. I know it had been a ridiculously long time since I'd updated. The idea and where the story is going had changed several times in my head, but it's now finally developed the through line I need to finish it. I will finish this with or without reviews… but it's always nice to know that people are reading and enjoying. Thanks to Volley for her encouragement. And the reason for Malcolm's behavior will start to become clear in the next chapter or two (that part is all written, I just need to find the right timing for it). This is a fairly short chapter (for me), but the next will be longer. Anyway, happy reading.

Chapter Five

Malcolm rose from his seat and nervously cleared his throat. He glanced at the padd, and then up at Phlox, sitting at the witness table. Finally he took a deep breath and began.

"Doctor Phlox, we're here to investigate the events leading to the death of Ensign Carey. Can you give us an official cause of death?"

Phlox met Reed's gaze. "She died from complications of an aortic dissection."

"Can you please explain what that is? In layman's terms?"

As Phlox began his explanation, Reed studied the padd, formulating his next question. Archer, Trip, and the panel watched him. Reed cleared his throat again. "Doctor, you've explained what the cause of death was. Now, if you please, explain the events that led up to her death."

Phlox had been watching Reed but now he glanced over at Trip, who gave him an encouraging nod. Phlox turned to Archer, and began speaking. Starting with the alert that had warned him of the incoming shuttle, and ending with Ensign Carey's death, he spoke in a steady voice. Only when he came to the last few minutes of Carey's life did his recitation slow. Looking down at the table, unable to meet the watching eyes, he continued. "I repaired the rupture, but she'd lost too much blood. I replaced it, but there were complications from the blood loss… and there was nothing else I could do for her. She died."

The room was silent, and no one moved. The crewman on the panel were all avoiding meeting Phlox eyes. Trip and Reed were studying their padds, rapidly punching keys, while Archer alone watched the doctor. It was several seconds before Reed spoke, and when he did his voice was low but had an intensity that drew all eyes to him. "Doctor, when Ensign Carey first arrived at sickbay, what was your initial impression of her injuries?"

"Hmmm…" Phlox began. "Well, I did an assessment, and initially her vital signs were stable. My initial impression was that she had suffered musculoskeletal trauma of some sort." His tone was level, but his eyes reflected his dismay.

"So, you didn't think she was seriously injured." It was a statement not a question, and Malcolm's tone was sharp.

"Not initially," Phlox replied levelly.

"So when she said her back was hurting, you didn't believe her." Again the 'question' was made as a statement, and the tone drew Archer's reprimand.

"Lieutenant," he warned. "Stick to the facts, please."

Phlox was shaking his head even before Archer was through speaking. His tone was a little more heated this time. "No, Lieutenant. That is not what I said. I believed she had been injured, and I believed she was in pain. However, as I was triaging, I did not triage her as the most seriously injured person."

"And what did you base that decision on?" Reed asked. His tone was still sharp.

"Captain Archer had obviously broken several ribs. It was imperative that I check to make certain he had not punctured a lung, so I put him in the scanner first."

"After you had scanned the captain, Ensign Carey was continuing to complain of back pain, even though you had given her a painkiller, correct?"

Phlox nodded. "Correct".

"Shouldn't that have been a warning that something more serious was wrong?"

Phlox met Reed's eyes. "Yes."

"And yet, you then chose to scan me, despite the fact that I had trivial injuries. Why did you make that decision, Doctor?" Reed's tone had sharpened again, and there was something else beneath it, something akin to anger, Archer thought. He watched Reed carefully and considered intervening again, but the question was a legitimate one, so he let it go. But he made a mental note to remember this later.

Phlox had hesitated so long that Reed prompted him. "Doctor?"

"I..I.."

Archer was stunned to see Phlox so flustered at the question. The Denobulan had had plenty of time to review his actions in the case, and Archer was surprised to see his loss of composure.

"Well, there were other considerations…." Phlox finally managed.

"Other considerations? _Other considerations_? What 'considerations' could have taken precedence over a badly injured crewman?" Reed asked skeptically.

"I wanted to make sure that I wasn't missing any critical injuries… that I treated the most serious injuries first" Phlox stuttered. Trip had half-risen from his chair, preparing to ask for a break.

"Well then, Doctor, you obviously failed at that, didn't you?" Now Reed's tone was actively scornful, and it drew an immediate response from two fronts.

"Captain?" Trip appealed, but he need not have bothered. Archer had already risen.

"Lieutenant Reed! That is quite enough!" Archer took a deep breath, considered. "We'll take a short recess… ten minutes. Panel, please don't discuss the case during your break. Lieutenant, a word?"

The panel seemed shocked at the premature break. Slowly they rose, and began to mill about the room, uncertain where they could go. Finally most gravitated toward a table where food and beverages had been made available. Reed's head was down, but he moved toward the captain. Archer angrily jerked his head toward the door, indicating Malcolm should follow him into the hallway. Once the door had slid closed behind them Archer whirled on his armory officer.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sir?" Reed was looking at the floor, refusing to meet his captain's eyes.

"Lieutenant, I thought I could count on you to behave professionally. That is why I chose you to prosecute this case. You have the best grasp of the facts, and you've done the most research. However, if you are going to behave this way, I'll have to postpone the hearing, and assign someone else!'

"Perhaps that is best."

"What?" Archer practically shouted. "I thought you wanted this hearing!"

Malcolm finally looked up and met Archer's gaze, his eyes blazing. "With all due respect, sir, I never wanted to prosecute this case. I wanted Phlox actions to be investigated, and I wanted him to be disciplined if that was warranted…. Which I believe it is… but I didn't want to be the one to do it! Everyone else is so enamored with Phlox, that they are willing to completely ignore what he did…they're letting their emotions prevent them from doing what needs to be done," Reed snapped. Suddenly seeming to realize he might have gone too far, he broke his gaze away.

"And your emotions aren't involved at all?" he asked.

"I didn't say that… as I said, I did not want to be the one doing the prosecution. I just want the facts to come out."

Archer studied him for a moment, his mind racing, and then made a decision. "Whether you want to or not, you have been assigned the duty of prosecuting this case during this hearing. Whatever your personal feelings are, I expect you to put them aside and behave in a professional manner. Do I make myself clear?"

Reed pulled himself into a position of attention. His normal stoic mask had dropped back into place. "Yes, sir."

"Fine. Now take five minutes to get yourself together, and we'll resume." Archer didn't wait for an answer, but activated the door and strode through, leaving Reed alone in the corridor. Entering the mess hall_ sans_ courtroom, he saw Trip huddled with Phlox in a corner.

In the corner Trip was trying to understand what had led to the doctor's loss of composure and give the physician a pep talk.

"Doc, it's okay. Nobody expects you not to be bothered by all this…but you gotta' tell me what is going on."

Phlox shook his head, and for a moment Trip thought he wasn't going to answer, but eventually the doctor spoke. "It's complicated."

"Well, I kinda figured that!" Trip exclaimed loudly enough that the captain glanced over at them. Lowering his voice he said, "Can you please elaborate a little?"

Phlox shook his head. "It's… not exactly clear cut. Lieutenant Reed is correct. I did triage improperly, in retrospect, although given the information I had at the time, I think my decision could be defended."

"Of course it could!"

Phlox shook his head again, before looking up at Trip. "It's the reason I made the decision that was… questionable."

Trip lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure there was no one within earshot. He was afraid that whatever Phlox was about to say could be incriminating. "What do you mean?"

Phlox met Trip's gaze steadily for the first time, and Trip could see the pain, the indecision even now, and he knew the physician was questioning his own decision. "It's because… I knew the people involved."

Trip's brow furrowed. Of course Phlox knew the people. It was Archer, Carey, and Reed. Phlox had known them for a few years. "I don't understand."

"It's because of what I knew _about_ the people involved. That information affected my decision making process. And I can't tell you about that, because it's confidential. I can't mention it, not here, not ever."

"Doctor, Ensign Carey is dead. Anything you knew about her, you can tell now. She's dead, so confidentiality doesn't apply."

Phlox shook his head again. "That isn't exactly true. But it's irrelevant. Commander, I'm sorry but I can't say anymore than this… it isn't just what I knew about _her_.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Geez. Well there is nothing I can say to excuse myself for how long this has taken. My New Year's resolution is to finish this story. If you are still reading, bless you for your patience, and thank you. I am one of the many people suffering through the storms and cold. Being trapped inside has driven me back to writing rather than, oh say, cleaning, organizing, paying bills. I anticipate two or three more chapters to wrap this up, and I hope to post them over the next month or so. But I've been wrong before. Just this morning, actually.

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Archer felt his eyes drooping. With an effort he straightened and stifled a yawn. Glancing over at the "jury" who appeared to be having similar difficulty, he considered calling a recess-- but it was only 11:00 AM, and he had already called two breaks. At this rate the hearing would never be concluded. Archer forced his attention back to Lieutenant Reed, who was still questioning the doctor. He had taken the captain's warning to heart, and was asking his question in a near monotone which was having the effect of luring his listeners into a near somnolent state. The material he was asking about was exceedingly dry—he had gone over the doctor's credentials first and followed that by having the doctor give the medical explanation for Ensign Carey's death, and the doctor had ventured into science talk that had lost everyone in the room, with the possible exception of Reed, who had researched the topic thoroughly. Archer's multiple attempts to have the doctor focus on the important and general aspects of the ensign's death, rather than engaging in a detailed discussion of the clotting pathway of humans had been futile. Why Reed was tolerating the prolonged and irrelevant monologue was unclear. The area of space they were in had been very quiet, devoid of any populated planets, so Archer had been unable to use that as an excuse to take breaks from the hearing. Archer half hoped someone _would_ start shooting at them, if only to break the tedium. He quickly dismissed the thought, admonishing himself for being concerned about boredom, given all Enterprise had experienced during her brief existence- but then Malcolm started into another exquisitely detailed question and Archer sighed. He opened his mouth, prepared to prompt Malcolm to move things along into a more directly relevant direction, when Enterprise suddenly rocked. It was subtle, but enough to make Trip glance up sharply from the padd he'd been studying and to make Malcolm pause. Before either officer could speak , Archer stood.

"Let's take a short break. Everyone report to their duty stations. Panel, I don't think I need to remind you not to discuss this hearing. Malcolm, I'll want a tactical status report in fifteen minutes. Trip, check engineering and see if there is anything going on down there that might have caused this. Dismissed."

The response was immediate. Within thirty seconds the mess hall had cleared of everyone but Archer and Phlox. Archer paused at the door, and glanced back at his doctor, who was slowly gathering up a few padds.

"Are you okay?" Archer asked.

"Fine." Phlox gave the captain a wide, obviously faked smile. Abruptly his expression fell. "Actually, no, captain, I'm not. I don't suppose it would be normal if I were."

"No, I suppose not." Archer belatedly realized that he had given little thought to the doctor's state of mind. The Denobulan was normally so independent, so stable, that Archer had assumed he was handling these events with his normal aplomb. He hadn't paid a visit to sickbay in days. Suddenly he realized that Phlox might think Archer held him responsible. He wanted to reassure the doctor, but as the ad-hoc judge, it would be inappropriate. As soon as this was over, regardless of the outcome, he resolved to have a long meal with the doctor. "Doctor… this will end."

"Ahhh… but will it?" Phlox replied, and Archer could only wonder what the doctor meant.

* * *

Like everyone else, Phlox went to his duty station—an empty sickbay. Only his menagerie saw the tired doctor cross the bay and activate his computer. Sliding into this chair, he pondered his options. Trip had been hounding him for details of why he had made the decisions he had, and so far Phlox had refused to disclose any information. He didn't want to do what his attorney had suggested, didn't want to even consider it. But he had the right to a defense, didn't he?

Phlox scanned his monitor, and with a few clicks opened the files he wanted. He spent several minutes reading and double-checking. Finally, he closed the file, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He took himself back to the day Ensign Carey had died, tried to consider his decisions from all angles, tried to imagine how he might have made decisions if he hadn't known the injured people so well, hadn't been privy to the information in his files, hadn't been _friends_ with them.

One of the first things he learned in his medical training was that friendships with patients could be perilous. It was not strictly forbidden, of course. But it was difficult. Emotional involvement could result in poor decisions for one thing. It was difficult to do painful things to patients, difficult to give them bad news, and even harder if they were close friends. For another, it was an unequal relationship. As a physician he knew his patient's secrets, knew their frailties, both physical and emotional. It could never be an equal relationship. That was why every medical society of which he knew, both on Denobula and Earth, prohibited intimate relationships between doctors and patients. Friendships were a gray area left to the physician's discretion.

On Enterprise, Phlox had been in a unique situation. He was the only physician aboard. It was hard not having another physician to commiserate with, to bounce ideas off of, and to engage in the very morbid humor that only physicians could truly appreciate—humor that was a necessary coping mechanism, but that would appall any patients who happened to overhear it. It was not meant with disrespect toward the patients, but was a means of venting the frustration and stress, and sometimes sadness, that were part of the daily life of a physician. Lacking that outlet, cut off from both Denobula and his adopted home of Earth, Phlox had no choice but to build close relationships with his shipmates. And it had been wonderful. He had developed friendships that had been as deep as any he had ever had. Had these friendships impaired his professional judgment? Had his objectivity been compromised to the point that he had ignored the medical evidence and based his decision on less objective factors?

Phlox shook his head and reconsidered the open files. Here was objective data; a patient's medical history was every bit as important data as any lab test or imaging study. Knowing what he did about the members of the crew, had he preceded any differently, he would have been just as open to criticism. He could imagine the scene:

_"Doctor, are you familiar with the medical histories of the crew of the Enterprise?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And are you familiar with the records of Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed, and Ensign Carey in particular?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then, Doctor, how could you possibly have failed to consider…."_

It was a no-win situation.

Phlox shook his head. Second guessing himself was to no avail. He had made the best decisions he could, based on the data he had at the time. And yet he couldn't stop re-living the day of the accident. He had re-played the scenario in his mind countless times. He had questioned his observations, tried to remember exactly what he'd been thinking, tried to remember how he'd come to each decision. But it had happened so quickly, decisions being made within seconds. He had been processing so much information, so quickly… and critical information hadn't been available to him yet. He should have picked up on Carey's condition. He knew that. All his attempts to justify his actions didn't change that fact. In his own heart he knew that he should have picked it up. Maybe not initially- but when her pain had persisted, he should have considered a dissection. Of course, this was all in hindsight. In the heat of the moment, working on a species he was just becoming really familiar with, he had done the best he could. And Ensign Carey was dead.

Mistakes were an inevitable part of his profession. This was not his first mistake, likely not even the first missed diagnosis that had lead to a death. When people were very sick, it was often very hard to determine exactly what was wrong with them. Very sick people died, and it was often hard to tell if the death had been from a delayed or wrong diagnosis, or if the person simply was too sick to survive, even with perfect medical care. It was a realization that every physician reached early in their medical career, and learned to live with. Learned to live with the fact that they were fallible beings, they would make mistakes, and those mistakes might cost a life.

It didn't make it any easier.

* * *

Archer sat in the captain's chair and surveyed the bridge. The ship was about to traverse a very hazardous area of space, fraught with small asteroids, some only a few meters wide. The area was peppered with gravitational abnormalities as well. The crew needed to be at their best, so Archer had stopped the proceedings the day prior and they would not resume until the ship was in safer space.

When he announced the break, the relief had been palpable. The ship was split over the on-going hearing. While most of the crew was torn, unsure what to think, a few vocal crewmen had made their opinions known. This group was nearly equally divided among those who thought Phlox had caused Ensign Carey's death, and those who felt Reed was taking things too far. Not surprisingly, the armory crew was largely aligned with Reed, and the science areas were more sympathetic to Phlox. Lingustics, support services, and engineering were nearly evenly split. Archer had overheard the whispered conversations.. He made no effort to stifle the whispers, knowing that would only keep them out of his hearing, but would do nothing to stop them. He preferred knowing what the crew was thinking, so he said nothing. So far the tensions had not spilled over into the work areas.

At the helm, Mayweather was sweating. He was manually piloting the ship, making corrections every few minutes, guided largely by Reed at tactical. The armory officer was closely monitoring the sensors, tracking the asteroids and anomalies as closely as possible, calling warnings and new headings to the helmsman. T'Pol was providing backup. Trip was parked in engineering. The sudden bursts of acceleration could cause the dilithium oxygen mix to become unbalanced, so he was making manual adjustments. He had left Rostov in charge briefly earlier and come to the bridge to confer with Malcolm. His visit had been brief and he had left mumbling about how it was nothing short of abuse to treat his engines this way.

It wasn't just the engines that were being strained. Some of the anomalies created small gravitational fields, and when the ship brushed the edges, as happened on several occasions the hull would heat up, and there would be small electrical surges. The hull plating had been polarized and that was helping, but the surges had already caused several small electrical fires. They'd been easily controlled so far, but should they affect critical systems they could cause a disaster. Malcolm had been in frequent communication with the armory, and the captain knew that he'd ordered the torpedoes and phase cannons locked down, so that they would not be inadvertently fired should a surge affect their control systems. The captain knew Malcolm wanted badly to be in the armory, but he was needed on the bridge.

It happened just as they were about to clear the field. T'Pol has just given him the good news that she was detecting clear space 500 kilometers ahead. At their speed they would be clear in a matter of minutes. The words had barely left her mouth when there was a fierce jolt, the strongest they'd experienced. Archer barely had time to process that something had happened before alarms began screeching. Trip's voice on the intercom was near panicked.

"Captain! We've got real trouble here! The dilithium matrix is unbalanced. I think--" he was cut off by what sounded like an explosion.

"Trip!" There was no response to the captain's hail. "Trip, respond!" Static was the only response. Archer dared hope the loss of contact was simply a communication failure, but he feared the worst. The screeching was continuing unabated. "Report!"

"We are receiving injury and damage reports from throughout the ship," T'Pol informed him. "However engineering has not reported in."

"Armory?" Malcolm asked from across the bride.

"Several injuries, mostly minor, no significant damage," T'Pol told him.

Malcolm nodded acknowlegment, and then bent his head over his console, before glancing up. "Sir, whatever that was, it's knocked out my panel. I can't do anything here. Permission to go check engineering, and then the armory."

Archer nodded his approval of the idea. "Take a portable radio," he instructed. "Let me know what you find."

Malcolm didn't reply, but turned and opened a panel behind him, pulling out two portable radios. He tossed one to Archer, and took the other before darting to the turbo lift. Archer was about to instruct him not to use the lift, but the doors slid closed too quickly. He could only hope the lift wasn't damaged. Turning back to the bridge, he gathered his thoughts.

"T'Pol, are we clear of the field?"

"Yes, captain," was the calm reply.

"Travis, power down all unnecessary systems. Keep life support, sickbay and the helm fully powered, but minimize power elsewhere. Hoshi, I want you to see if there is any sign of any other ships, or anything else that could concern us in our vicinity. T'pol, you and I need--"

"Captain." Malcolm's voice came through the radio Archer was holding. "I'm in engineering. It's bad, sir. There are several injuries. Mostly minor, but some serious. The engine has been badly damaged. There's been a breech in the integrity of the dilithium containment field, and it's emitting some pretty nasty fumes. We need to get everyone out of here, and come back with environmental suits."

"Start evacuating," Archer ordered. "Where is Trip?"

"He's unconscious, sir. I don't know how bad- I don't see any blood, but I don't know. Sir, I need to get these people out of here."

"Do it," Archer replied.

"Aye, sir." Malcolm's voice could be heard for a few more seconds as he apparently forgot to release the talk button on the radio. "Let's get these injured people out of here!"

Malcolm surveyed the scene and tried to think clearly. It was hard with the noxious fumes spewing from the engine. The crew was working quickly, pulling the injured out of engineering. Malcolm shuddered to think how the rough handling might be aggravating their injuries, but it couldn't be helped. There was no time to assess and apply first aid; that would be done in the hallway, once engineering was sealed off.

The last of the crew were evacuating, and Malcolm glanced around to make certain that no one had been left behind. He had tried to do a head count, but in the confusion had lost count. Glancing up, movement caught his attention. Looking more carefully, he saw Rostov trying to climb up the stairs to the engine's second level. He was holding his left arm tightly across his chest, obviously injured.

"Rostov! Get down here! We have to get out!"

"Sir, I have to shut down the flow valve. Otherwise the engine will blow. With the dilithium container breeched, the flow will continue until it overloads !"

"I'll do it! You get down! You're injured," Malcolm shouted back. It was obvious Rostov could barely climb the stairs. There was no way he would be able to pull the heavy lever to stop the dilithium flow." Malcolm was already moving toward the engine. He coughed, his lungs burning, and he could hear Rostov wheezing. He reached the crewman, and shoved him toward the exit. "Get out. I'll be right behind you."

Rostov nodded, unable to speak as he gasped for air, and began stumbling toward the safety of the hallway. Malcolm turned and began scrambling up the stairs to the engines second level. He reached the dilithum flow control. Glancing at the gauges he involuntarily gasped, filling his lungs with fumes. The indicator showed that dilithium flow was at maximum, a setting never used outside of a repair and maintenance station. With flow that high, it was only a matter of minutes before the engine overloaded. The resulting explosion would be catastrophic, destroying not just Enterprise, but sending out dilithium radiation thousands of kilometers, poisoning anything in its path. However with the flow this high, he couldn't just shut it off—the amount of dilithium that had been leaked into the engine matrix was already much too high. He not only needed to stop the flow, an action he quickly accomplished, but he needed to manually monitor and adjust the matrix the dilithium had flooded. If he could increase the levels of the other chemicals in the engine mixing chamber, he could neutralize the dilithium. He frantically tried to remember the ratio for maximum efficiency—and then realized that was the opposite of what he needed. He needed to be as _inefficient_ as possible, so that the dilithium would be more quickly consumed.

"Captain," he managed through his coughing. "I need you to go to warp speed. Two or three will do."

"Malcolm, we have too much damage. I can't risk going to warp until we've evaluated the ship for damage. There could be a crack in the hull, and we could lose integrity if we go to warp."

"If we don't, the engine will explode, and we'll lose everything," Malcolm gasped. "Sir, please! Trust me!"

It went against Archer's instincts to go to warp speed with a damaged ship, but he had learned to trust Reed. If Reed said they needed to go to warp, then he'd do it. He met Travis gaze. "Do it!"

"Reed?"

"No time, sir. I'll explain later."

Malcolm felt the ship lurch into warp. Next to him the engine stuttered. He studied the dials before him. It had been some time since he'd been in engineering, and even longer since he manually balanced the dilithium mix and on those occasions he'd been trying to balance it to make it as efficient as possible- not as inefficient. He had to run the ship as close to stalling the engine as he could without actually stalling it. Watching the gauges he began manipulating the oxygen flow. He turned it down cutting down the flow by more than half. He then turned up the crisolige flow. Crisolige was used to cool engines when they needed to be shut down quickly. He did not allow crisolige to enter the chamber enough to stop the engines, but they slowed. Finally he turned up the plasma stream. This was the most dangerous part. The plasma could eagerly consume the dilithium, sending the ship out of control if he wasn't careful. He felt the ship accelerate, and his monitor confirmed they were at warp three and a half, so he turned the plasma down a little and the engine slowed too quickly and began to stutter. Malcolm immediately turned down the crisolite, and inched the plasma flow control up a bit. His eyes were streaming from the fumes, making it hard to read the gauges. It was much harder to breathe as well. How much dilithium remained to burn off? How much had leaked into the mixing chamber before he'd cut off the flow? Malcolm peered at the dials, trying to see, but his eyes were too blurred to make out the number. He could see that the needle was in the range that was clearly marked with red. He needed to get it back into the area marked with green. Starfleet had tried to make it fool-proof, and while he had scoffed at the color markings before, now he was very grateful for them

He thought the needle had inched a little closer to the green, but it wasn't moving fast enough. Malcolm wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate the fumes. He wanted to urge the captain to increase speed to hasten the process, but it was too dangerous. The captain was right -if there was damage to the hull increasing speed could stress the hull enough to cause a breech.

Peering at the gauge, Malcolm was certain the needle was moving closer to the safe zone. The mixture of plasma and crisolage he had set was consuming the dilithium quickly, inefficiently. He didn't have in the engine room any longer. He could leave, seal off engineering, and let someone with an environmental suit return to make the repairs. The choking sensation was worse. He had to get out of here. He backed down the stairs holding the railing to give him more stability, but he was coughing so hard he was getting light headed. He was nearly at the bottom when he lost his balance and fell backwards landing squarely on his butt. He lay there, more stunned then hurt, for several seconds, coughing so hard he couldn't catch his breath. His efforts to rise were futile. Desperate, he managed to turn onto his belly. He rose to his hands and knees, intending to crawl, but his way was blocked. Feet. A pair of feet. Presumably attached to a body. Malcolm recognized the rust orange of the environment suit covering the legs, but before he had the chance to learn who the feet belonged to everything went gray, followed quickly by darkness, and he knew no more.


	7. Chapter 7

"Malcolm? Malcolm, answer me. Open your eyes!" Archer knelt next to the armory officer and shook his shoulder, at first gently and then more vigorously. Malcolm didn't move. Archer reached down and grasped him under the arms. Grunting with effort he slowly walked backwards, pulling his armory officer out of engineering. Malcolm was muscular, heavier than he looked, and Archer began to sweat.

"May I assist you?" T'Pol, clad in an environmental suit, appeared at his side.

"Get his feet," Archer panted. T'pol wordlessly complied. Working together they had Reed out of engineering within seconds. Lowering Reed to the floor, Archer reached up to hit the engineering door control. With a hiss it slid shut and sealed. Still breathing heavily, he gestured at T'Pol to lift Reed again. Moving as quickly as the bulky environmental suits would allow they carried Reed to the lone gurney left in the corridor. Phlox had sent several, but now the corridor was empty; all the other injured had been moved to sickbay. T'Pol grasped one end of the gurney, Archer grabbed the other, and they began a dash to sickbay. Reed was breathing in labored gasps. His lips and fingertips were blue, and his skin was a frightening gray. Archer and T'pol raced down the corridor as quickly as they could without spilling Reed to the floor. Reaching the turbolift they found it was being held open by a Crewman Jacobs who had responded to the emergency.

"You're the last ones, sir," the crewman told him. "Everyone else has been evacuated to sickbay."

"Thank you," Archer told him. The lift was already moving. "Malcolm! Malcolm, can you hear me? Open your eyes, lieutenant!" Archer tried to rouse Reed. Reed turned his head slightly toward the sound of the voice, but didn't open his eyes.

Thirty seconds. Only thirty seconds to sickbay. Archer knew that the turbolift was never more than thirty seconds from sickbay when the emergency override was activated, but that knowledge wasn't helpful as he watched Reed struggle to breath. T'Pol raised the head of the gurney, and Reed's breathing eased marginally, but his skin was still an unnatural grey. Archer bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to will the turbolift to its location. Encouraged by Malcolm's earlier response, Archer called to him again. "Malcolm! Wake up!" Reed sluggishly turned his head, still not opening his eyes. A strong jolt made the gurney roll several inches as the turbolift halted. With a mechanical grind the doors opened. Jacobs stepped in, grabbing Archer's end of the gurney. "Sir, you're needed elsewhere. I've got this." Archer frowned, but T'Pol nodded approval. "He's right, sir. You need to determine what has happened. I would suggest you find Commander Tucker or another engineering officer and get an update." They were moving while she spoke. Archer hated to relinquish the job, feeling as though he was abandoning Reed, but knowing T'Pol was right. She shouldn't have to say anything.

Sickbay was loud. That was the first thing Archer noticed. And crowded. As Jacobs and T'Pol guided the gurney out of the turbolift they were forced to a make a hasty stop to avoid running into Cutler. Dressed in an environmental suite, she was escorting Rostov around the gurneys filling sickbay to the decon chamber. A line of crewman were waiting for the decon chamber behind a roughly drawn red line, but Cutler guided Rostov past them to the front of the line. She pressed the button next to the chamber and the door slid open, revealing four crewmen inside, one on a gurney. All four looked ill, and Cutler directed them to nearby biobeds in a an area behind a green line. The man on the gurney was wheeled out of the chamber by crewman in environmental suits. Cutler directed several of the waiting crew into the chamber. Archer noted that nearly all were coughing, and some appeared to have other injuries. A few were being supported by their comrades. Every bed in sickbay was filled, and the floor was cluttered with crewman who had been placed on makeshift litters. Some even sat in chairs. A quick head count told Archer that nearly all of the engineering crew was present. Cutler had recruited her fellow scientists, dressed them in environmental suits, and put them to work administering first aid to the men and woman waiting for the decon chamber. Archer took in the chaos with a glance, his eyes scanning sickbay for the one person he wanted to see. He spotted him bending over a crewman on the opposite side of sickbay. "Phlox!" Archer called, motioning for the doctor.

Phlox glanced up from the patient he was examining, saw Archer, and looked back down at the patient on the biobed. He glanced back at the monitor and held up one finger to Archer before turning back to his patient. He said something Archer couldn't hear to the crewman standing closest to him, and then hurried over, skirting gurneys. He looked at Reed, and his brow furrowed.

"We found him in engineering, after all the others were out. He stayed to rebalance the engine. We don't know exactly what happened in there yet, but if he hadn't stayed," Archer shook his head, "We'd be space dust now."

Phlox gave a quick nod. "Rostov told me Lieutenant Reed stayed behind in engineering. If the rest of the crew's condition is anything to go by, he needs immediate treatment." As he spoke Phlox grabbed the edge of the gurney and began pulling it toward the decon chamber. Several other gurneys were lined up by the door, and Archer could see it was at max capacity. He looked at Phlox. "They've all been exposed to toxic mix of radiation and chemicals. From the warp engine. They need to be decontaminated as quickly as possible." Phlox explained. "The lieutenant will in the next group."

Phlox turned to scan sickbay. He gestured at one of the scientists in an environmental suit. "Bring oxygen. Now."

The woman Phlox had waved to grabbed an oxygen tank, and hurried to them. Phlox fit the oxygen mask over Reed's face. "Get him to decon. He's the next one in." Phlox studied the bioscanner he was running over Reed. "Then we need to get him a breathing treatment. He'll need a biobed." Phlox paused, considering. "Ensign Fujimoto can be moved to a gurney." Archer was listening to Phlox but his eyes were roaming sickbay. He knew Trip had to be in the area, but he couldn't see him. Reed's gurney was moving towards decon, Jacobs pushing as T'Pol guided it around the obstacles littering sickbay. The decon chamber was still sealed, full of crewmen. There were clearly not enough resources or medical personnel to deal with the number of casualties. Archer could only hope that most of the injuries were minor. "Doctor, briefly, what is the situation?"

Phlox shook his head. He injected Reed with a hypospray, checked his scanner, and then knelt to give his attention to the crewman on the floor next to them. "Most of the engineering crew was exposed to radiation and toxic fumes. Thankfully the radiation exposure was fairly low. The fumes are more serious, but most of them will do fine. There are some other injuries, most of which are not life threatening. However, I haven't had the chance to do a thorough exam of everyone yet. I'm still triaging." Phlox was speaking quickly. "Really, captain, I don't have time to talk right now."

Archer would have liked more information, but Phlox was busy and the door to decon was opening. Seven crewman, including Rostov, stumbled out. One of the men was, like Reed, on a gurney. The men wore only sickbay gowns, having been forced to strip as part of the decontamination process. Cutler had reappeared and directed the exiting crewmen to various corners of sickbay. They were immediately attended to by the science section crewman who had been pressed into service as medics. All but one of the biobeds had been occupied when they entered, and Archer noted that last biobed was taken by the crewman on the gurney— it was Heller, he realized. Archer let his gaze roam sickbay. He still hadn't spotted Trip, but curtains hid the occupants of several of the beds. Archer assumed the engineer was behind one of the curtains.

Phlox was moving swiftly among the injured, giving directions to the beleaguered science crew trailing him. Glancing up, he caught Archer's eye, and gestured toward the decon chamber. "Lieutenant Reed goes in next, along with Marshall, Jones, and Smitty," Phlox called. The crewman in line gave way to those whose names had been called. Cutler motioned to bring Reed into the decon chamber where two crewman clad in environmental suites were assisting . Archer was motioned back. He hesitated for a few seconds, not wanting to leave, but knowing he had to. The decon doors slid shut with a hiss, cutting off his view. Archer felt a little stunned. They hadn't been in sickbay for more than ninety-seconds.

He started as Cutler put her hand on his arm. Yelling, so he could hear her through the helmet, she directed him to the back corner of sickbay. As he approached, he saw a makeshift shower had been set up. He noticed that the floor was covered with thick stripes of green, blue, and red. He walked between two red lines to the shower. Realizing that this was a decon station for those who had been in environmental suits, he stepped into the shower and rinsed the suit thoroughly. Only when the ensign from support services who was supervising nodded his approval did Archer shed his suit. He took a deep breath, glad to be free of the claustrophobic helmet. The ensign pointed to a container. "Sir, put the suit in that locker, please. We'll further decon them later. Now that you're 'clean' please stay in the green zone. The red zone is for contaminated individuals, and the blue is for people in environmental suits who haven't been directly contaminated/ If you go into the blue or red areas without a suit, you'll have to go into the decon chamber. "

"Thank you," Archer told him. "Do you know where Commander Tucker is?"

The ensign consulted the padd he was holding. "Biobed Seven, sir. And he's…" the ensign scrolled down a little further on the padd, "decontaminated. It's safe to go see him."

"Thanks," Archer repeated. Carefully following the green lines, and marveling at Phlox and Cutler's ability to organize the chaos, he moved toward the bank of biobeds. Biobed Seven was near the end of the line. There were only thirteen biobeds, Archer noted. It had seemed enough when Enterprise launched, but now it was clearly inadequate.

*********

In decon Reed opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, and his eyes burned. He slammed his eyes closed again. His body ached, there was an ice pick planted squarely between his eyes, and his skin tingled unpleasantly. There was nothing he could do but remain still and wait for someone to let him know what was going on. He was being manipulated he realized. Someone forced him to sit up, and to his horror he realized his clothes were being removed. He tried to protest, but as he drew a deep breath he began to cough. He tried to bat away the hands, but his efforts were easily overcome. Air was flowing against his face. He lifted his hand to his face, and felt the hard plastic resting there. He started to lift it off his face, but his hand was pushed gently away from it.

"Lieutenant Reed?" the voice had the distant, tinny sound that told him the speaker was in an environmental suite. "You've been exposed to radiation, and to toxic chemicals. You're in the decon chamber. You have to be decontaminated." Reed tried to reply, but with the deep breath he began coughing again, and was unable to speak. He could hear others coughing, and realized he wasn't the only one being decontaminated. His uniform was already half off. The thought of being so exposed in front of others made his face turn hot. He was lifted from the gurney, held upright. Warm liquid cascaded over him. It was a comfortable temperature, but it still stung. He pulled back, trying to avoid the prickling discomfort. He was pushed firmly forward again into the liquid and he gritted his teeth against the worsening pain. His skin felt as though it was burning off. His breathing sped up, and that provoked another bout of coughing, his chest and throat were being scraped with raw glass. It was too much, and he tried again to pull back, but wasn't allowed to. He wanted to ask where he was, but couldn't stop coughing long enough to ask the question. After what seemed an eternity, he was drawn back from the shower of liquid and guided into a chair. "Open your eyes, lieutenant," he was instructed. When he was only able to create small slits, gloved fingers reached down and pried his right eye open. His head was tilted back. Warm liquid struck the open eye. Immediate sharp, white hot agony, a knife penetrating his eyeball. He jerked his head back and then to the side, but the grip on his head was a vise, inescapable. His hands flew to his face, trying to protect himself, but they were quickly restrained. When the fingers finally let his eye fall closed, he gasped with relief. Until he felt his left eye pried open.

After what seemed an eternity, Reed heard the decon doors opening. The gurney was pushed back into sickbay. He tried again to open his eyes, but the burning pain turned to hot coals of agony, and his hands flew to his face, covering his eyes. One of his hands was gently grasped, brought down to his side, and there was a brief flare of pain his hand, followed by a coolness flowing up his arm, and he knew an IV line had been started. The pain began to retreat, and sounds became more distant.

*********

Archer found Trip. The engineer was on a biobed in the corner of sickbay farthest from the decon chamber. Trip was awake, but groggy. He was trying to sit up, to Cutler's displeasure.

"Sir, please, lie still. You need to rest. The doctor said-"

"No, I have to," Trip paused. "I have to… to… to… do something. Where's the captain?" Trip looked around, searching for his boss.

"Commander, I'll get the captain, if you'll just lay back down. Please, sir." Cutler tried to bargain with her patient. She placed one hand on his shoulder, pressing him back.

"It's alright, Cutler, I'm here," Archer told her. "Trip, listen to her. Lie still. Has the doctor seen you yet?"

Trip furrowed his brow, and lifted his hand to his forehead. "Um, I think so. Did the doctor see me?" He turned to Cutler for help with the question.

"Yes. And he told you to stay here and rest," Cutler gently scolded him. "So please do. " She turned to Archer. "Sir, I have to check on others. Can you please keep the commander here? He's needs more treatment."

Archer nodded his agreement. "What are his injuries?"

Cutler was already moving away. "Concussion, burns to this right leg, radiation exposure. He's already been through decon though- his crew brought him here right away. He was unconscious. He'd had very heavy radiation exposure to his thigh. But he got deconned quickly, so he should be fine. But the burn needs more treatment, and he needs frequent neuro checks."

"Thanks, Cutler. I know you're busy. I'll make sure he stays here."

Cutler smiled wearily, and then turned to her next patient. Archer turned back to Trip who was now lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Trip?"

"Yes, captain?" Trip turned his head to look at Archer, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Archer sighed. He didn't know if it was the concussion or the painkillers that were making Trip so foggy. "What happened?"

"Happened?"

"In engineering, Trip. What happened in engineering?" Archer struggled to keep his voice even.

"Oh! Engineering." Trip's brow furrowed again. "There was an explosion?"

"Yes. Do you know what caused it?"

"The warp core?"Trip looked hopeful that he'd gotten the answer right.

"Trip." Archer took a deep breath. "There was an explosion in engineering. We don't know what caused it. Do you?"

"Oh." Trip's face fell. He closed his eyes. "I think… I think the mix became unbalanced. I went up on the platform to correct it. It was running too hot. I tried to adjust it, but the vent opened, and some plasma shot out, right next to me. It just missed me. If it had hit me, it would have killed me for sure, it's so hot. It missed me by about a foot, but it was so hot it burned my leg where it went by. When it vented, there was a pressure wave. I think that knocked me off the platform. I don't remember anything else, captain. I don't know what made the mix become so hot." Trip's eyes shot open, wide with alarm. "My crew! Captain, my crew! Are they alright?" Trip was trying to sit up again, frantically scanning sickbay, seeming to become aware for the first time that he wasn't alone.

"Trip, calm down. No one was killed. There were injuries, some serious, but Phlox is taking care of them."

"Captain, if he we don't get the warp engines re-balanced we'll have a breach! The whole ship will be destroyed! Captain, I have to get back to engineering!" The frantic engineer was trying to climb off the biobed.

"Trip, it's okay. Malcolm got the engine taken care of. I'm not sure how. Engineering has been sealed off because of the radiation. We're dead in space for the time being, but we'll investigate as soon as it's safe."

"Oh." Trip lay back temporarily placated. "Malcolm shut the engine down, huh? Good job. Tell him that we'll have to vent the engineer room to space to remove the radiation quickly. We'll need a crew in environmental suits to go in first and lock everything down so half the contents of the engine room don't go flying out into space. He can use the emergency vents. They're designed for that. Just send him over here, and I'll walk him through it." Trip squinted at the captain, and rubbed his temples with his fingers. "Can we turn down the lights in here?"

Archer hit the control for the lights over Trip's bed. The lights dimmed, although in the overall brightness of sickbay it didn't make much of a difference. "Trip, Malcolm was injured, too. He's in decon now. He was waking up, but he got a pretty heavy exposure to radiation and to fumes from the engine. I'll have T'Pol come by and you can work out the venting of the engine room with her. The sooner the better. We need to get the engine back on line. " Archer looked up, scanned sickbay. His stomach sank as realized how many of the engineering crew were in sickbay, along with the most of the science crew, who were acting as medics. Once again it hit Archer how poorly staffed his medical section was. It had come up several times in his conversations with Admiral Forest, but there had always been some more pressing matter, and somehow he had never pressed the issue. He vowed that the next time he spoke with Forest he would insist on a full medical crew. He was grateful that Phlox had conducted some training sessions with the ad-hoc medics.

Cross-training. The armory and engineering crew often did cross-training. The thought struck Archer. He would have T'Pol pull a few of the more experienced armory crew into engineering to secure it, and to conduct the venting procedure. He began mentally organizing the tasks he needed to do to get his ship running again.

"No!"

The furious voice across sick bay interrupted Archer's mental planning. He turned quickly, certain he knew the source. Malcolm was out of decon, and was most definitely awake. He fought Phlox, pushing the doctor away, not allowing himself to be scanned. "Get away from me!"

Archer moved swiftly, trying to get a lid on things before sickbay exploded. His stomach was in a knot. The tension level in sickbay had been high to begin with and now it was skyrocketing. Crewmen on biobeds were sitting up, staring at Malcolm, who was trying to climb off his gurney. The crewman sitting in chairs rose to watch the scene.

T'Pol was quicker than Archer. Reaching Malcolm's side, she easily shoved him down onto the gurney, and in the next moment had it moving towards the rear of sickbay. Within thirty seconds the gurney carrying the armory officer was hidden behind a curtain. Archer could hear T'Pol's voice, low and calm, but he could not make out her words. The rest of sickbay remain tense. Deciding to leave T'Pol to deal with Malcolm, he turned to the rest of his crew. Pasting what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face, he moved through sickbay, talking to crewman, offering sympathy, reassurance, and occasional joke. Slowly the tension leached out of sickbay. Out of the corner of his eye Archer saw Phlox move toward the rear of sickbay. He tensed. Trying not to let his apprehension show, he moved in the same direction. He hesitated before entering the curtained off alcove, but whatever was happening with Malcolm could not be allowed to affect the rest of the ship.

Archer pushed aside the curtain to the alcove. Reed was turning his head from side to side, squinting as he tried to look around sickbay. "Where's Rostov? He was hurt." Reed's voice was muffled through the mask that T'Pol was holding in place to keep him from pulling it off. "Why aren't you helping him doctor?" He tried again to sit up and leaned forward, coughing violently before saying. "Why are so many people standing around? Where's Trip? What-"

Archer raised the head of the gurney further and gently pulled Reed back to lean against the support, but Reed weakly resisted. "What is going on here?" He tried to swing his legs over the side of the gurney. T'Pol intervened, blocking the confused officer's movements.

"Lieutenant, you must remain on the gurney. You are in no condition to get up, and there is nothing you can do here to help. Rostov and the other crew who were in engineering will be treated. You need to allow Phlox to treat you."

Reed tried to look at her, but his eyes were tearing so heavily he couldn't. He leaned forward again and shook his head violently, setting off another round of coughing. "No. I'll wait my turn," he gasped, "like everyone else."

Phlox hurried over, giving a deep sigh. "Lieutenant, this isn't about waiting one's turn, or giving you priority because of your rank. This is medical necessity. You were the last one out of engineering. You had the highest exposure. You need treatment immediately. It's as simple as that."

"No." Reed leaned back against the gurney again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I refuse. You can't force me- " his argument was cut off as he tried to catch his breath, and it was thirty seconds before he could resume speaking. "You can't force me," he continued gamely, "to accept treatment I don't want."

"You don't want to be treated?" Archer asked, puzzled.

"I don't want to be treated before the others," Reed clarified, looking straight ahead and refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "That is my decision."

"I don't accept it," Phlox was firm. "The triage decisions are mine."

Reed turned to glare at the doctor. His eyes were still tearing heavily, but the message was clear. "I think it's pretty clear that your triage decisions aren't very sound, _doctor_," he managed, and although though his voice was muffled by the oxygen mask, and he was racked with about bout of coughing, his words made an impact. Archer, T'Pol and Phlox froze.

When Phlox that broke the silence his voice was amazingly calm. "Lieutenant," he began, "I know you're upset with me, but that doesn't change the fact that you need treatment. You've been exposed to toxic fumes, and heavy radiation. I need to scan you, to determine how much damage has been done."

"No." Malcolm's voice was hoarse but insistent. "I'm fine."

T'Pol, Archer and Phlox stared at him. Malcolm's reddened eyes flitted back and forth between them.

"Now I know you aren't capable of decision making," Archer said flatly. "That is the most patently ridiculous thing you've ever said, lieutenant."

"Perhaps. But it my choice. Doctor, you have other patients," Malcolm gestured toward the curtain. "Why don't you take care of them."

Phlox studied Malcolm for several seconds. He turned away, started to push the curtain aside but paused. He turned back to Malcolm. He took a step closer, took a deep breath, and pulled himself up. "Lieutenant, I'm not going to treat anyone else until you've been properly treated. You've had the highest exposure. You're right, there are other patients. Some of them are seriously injured. You're delaying their treatment. "

The effect was immediate. Malcolm's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened, stricken. He paled even further. "I… no. Don't delay their treatment!" he pleaded.

"The scanner is waiting," Phlox said, implacable.

Malcolm nodded, seemed unable to form words. His irritated eyes were wide. He seemed stricken. Phlox took advantage. He stepped outside the curtain, and gestured at two of the science crew. "Take Lieutenant Reed to the scanner, please. Do a full body scan, with detailed images of his lungs, and then bring him back here. I'll be taking care of my other patients."

Archer watched as Malcolm lay back on the gurney, drained. He didn't offer any resistance as his gurney was rolled to the scanner. Archer saw him wince was he was lifted onto the scanner tray, but otherwise the armory officer remained silent. Archer considered the scene. He had been certain Phlox would have to sedate Reed to get him the scanner, and he hadn't known if the doctor's ethics would allow it. But when Phlox had told Reed he was delaying treatment of the rest of the crew, Reed had looked as though he'd been physically struck- and Phlox had looked vaguely ill as well. Archer had sensed something passing between the two. He was left to wonder, certain that neither of them would be explaining any time soon.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Thanks to Volley and STReader for taking time to review. I write for me, but I post for others to (hopefully) enjoy, so it's nice to hear back from people. I'm honored that anybody spends their time reading my stories. I had actually thought this was a short linking chapter, but it turned out to be pretty darn long. At the end of this you might think you know what's going on with Malcolm, and you might be close—but there is more than meets the eye.

*****

Four hours after his ship had come to a screeching halt, Archer surveyed his engine room. He schooled his features, trying not to reveal his frustration. The Enterprise was, once again, wounded. The engine room was in a state of controlled chaos. At least the area was safe to enter again. T'Pol had successfully vented the area with the help of the armory crew. Now they had to get the engine restarted. Unfortunately, Malcolm had done his work too effectively. The engine had needed to be shut down, but the crisolige he had used had coated the engine parts, and he had burned up much of the warp plasma. The reserve store was enough to get them back to space dock, Archer hoped, but only if they could get the crisolige out of the engine. Malcolm's methods were effective, but would have turned a Starfleet engineer's hair grey. The armory crew, with remarkably little grumbling, were manually scrubbing out the warp core. The work was hard, made even more difficult by the need to wear environmental suits in the tight confines of the core. The hot strenuous work meant they had to trade out crewman every thirty minutes. Archer watched a new two-man team enter the core, while the exhausted team that was exiting the core pulled off their helmets. They were flushed and drenched with sweat. T'Pol directed them toward a bench and the beverage station. They gratefully gulped water and took seats to rest. He caught T'Pol's eye and after a word to the crewman she came over to greet him.

"Captain," T'Pol greeted him.

"How are things going Sub-Commander?"

"We're making progress but it is slow. The crew's can only work for thirty minutes at a time, before they become fatigued and lose effectiveness. "

"How much longer?" Archer realized he sounded abrupt, but T'Pol didn't seem to notice.

"I believe in six hours we will be ready to recharge the engines with the reserve warp plasma. That will take approximately six hours. Once that is complete we can attempt to restart the engines. "

"Attempt?" Archer asked, with a twinge of alarm.

"I am not certain our efforts will be successful, captain. This procedure has never been done on an Earth vessel outside of space dock. The mix ratio must be precisely balanced, or it will not initiate. I am optimistic that we can achieve re-start, but I am not certain. "

Archer scrubbed his face with his hand. "Alright, Sub-Commander. I'll leave you to your work. Do you need any more help?"

"I believe we have adequate manpower. Has Commander Tucker recovered?"

"He's still sleepy, and at times confused. Dr. Phlox wants to keep him under observation until he's less groggy."

"I would prefer to have him present when we re-initialize the warp corp. He has the most experience with balancing Enterprise's engines. His presence would increase our odds of success," T'Pol said.

Archer sighed. "We only get one shot at this, right?"

"Yes, captain."

"Then I'll make certain he's here. If we have to delay the re-start, we will."

"Have you been able to determine what caused the engine to become unbalanced?" Archer asked.

"I believe so. It was an unfortunate confluence of circumstances."

Archer didn't attempt to reply to that statement, but lifted his eyebrows and waited for his second in command to elaborate.

"The jolt we experienced was caused by the a gravitational anomaly. Unfortunately, that particular anomaly emitted magnetic waves, and at the instant of the encounter plasma was being injected into the warp core as part of the normal engine function. It caused the injector lock to be freeze open for 0.7 seconds, rather than the normal 0.03 seconds. That resulted in a large influx of plasma, which unbalanced the engine.

Archer was not an engineer, but as a Starfleet captain he had a good understanding of all aspects of how his ship worked.

"So the anomaly caused the injector lock to stick and flood the engine with plasma."

It was not a question, but T'Pol answered anyway. "Yes."

"And Malcolm burned up the extra plasma, and cooled the engine with the crisolige, making a mess but saving our butts."

T'Pol nodded, and then asked, "How is Lieutenant Reed?"

Archer shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't had time to get back to sickbay. By the way, thanks for your help in sickbay."

T'Pol nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. "No thanks is necessary, captain. I was doing my job."

"What did you say to him?"

"Captain, I would prefer to keep that between the lieutenant and myself. Suffice it to say I reminded him of his position on this ship, and his duty."

Archer wanted to ask more, but didn't. Instead he gestured at the core. "I'll leave the engine in your hands. Let me know when you're ready to load the reserve plasma. I'll be on the bridge."

Leaving the engine room to continue on his rounds, T'Pol's question came back to him. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't checked with Phlox on how the injured were doing and Phlox had been far too busy to provide his customary updates. With his ship dead in space, Archer had forced to put the injured out of his mind. He had more pressing duties, and there was nothing he could do for them. Now that things were quieting down, and there was nothing he could do to help his ship at the moment, Archer's thoughts turned to his injured crew, particularly Reed. Reed had saved the ship at great risk to his own life. Archer would not have expected anything less from the armory officer. But he didn't understand Reed's behavior in sickbay. Not allowing himself to be treated didn't make sense. Even the on-going hearing investigating Phlox role in Carey's death didn't explain Reed's actions. Archer's steps slowed, and he lifted his hand to tap a com panel. Pausing, his hand hovered above the controls. He lowered his hand, considered, and changed his direction. Three minutes later he entered sickbay.

Things were much quieter now. The scanner was silent, and although all of the biobeds were occupied, the floor was clear and the chairs were empty. The lights over the biobeds had been dimmed. Phlox was sitting at his desk studying his computer, illuminated by a desk lamp. Cutler was curled up on a gurney, sound asleep, emitting occasional soft snores. Jacobs and another science crewman, free of their environmental suits were sitting by a lab bench, chatting quietly. It was hard for Archer to believe that just four hours ago the place had been in disarray. Quietly he moved toward Phlox. The doctor looked up at the sound of his steps. His smile was wan. "Captain?"

Archer pulled up a chair and sat down. "How are you holding up?"

"Captain, as you know, Denobulans rarely sleep. On this occasion, I find myself envying humans that daily release."

"You may not need sleep, but you need food and a mental break. Have you eaten?"

"Crewman Cutler kindly brought me a meal. I'll take a break soon."

Archer didn't push the doctor. "How are your patients?"

Phlox brightened. "They will all survive. I've sent those with minor injuries to their quarters, with instructions to return in the morning. Those with significant radiation exposure will require close monitoring for some time. Mr. Rostov's arm is broken, and he had a significant exposure to the fumes, so he'll need to be here for a few days, and he'll need even more time off duty. "

"The biobeds are full."

"I've kept those who had the highest exposure to fumes in sickbay, so I can monitor their respiratory status. The fumes they were exposed to can do serious damage to the lungs. Pulmonary edema can come on quickly, so they need close monitoring."

"Pulmonary edema?"

"Fluid on the lungs," Phlox clarified.

"What about Commander Tucker and Lieutanant Reed?" Archer asked. Phlox hadn't mentioned either officer, which Archer took to be a good sign, but he was still concerned.

"Commander Tucker has a concussion. He also has a serious burn on his leg, and he had a high level of radiation to that area, but his crew evacuated him quickly, so his exposure to the fumes was minimal."

"And Lieutenant Reed?"

Phlox looked down for a moment. "Lieutenant Reed didn't have any traumatic injuries but the level of fumes he inhaled was significant, and he received a high level of radiation exposure. His decontamination was fairly prompt, but his lungs were full of fluid when I scanned him. I was able to treat him in time to prevent respiratory failure. I'm giving him treatment for the lung damage." By the end of the little speech Phlox voice had risen. Realizing this, he looked quickly around sickbay to see if anyone was awake. He dropped his head and added in a lower voice, "He was on the verge of respiratory failure. By the time I was done scanning him, he could barely breath. Any longer and I would have had to intubate him, and the lung damage would have been permanent, if he'd even survived. I won't let it happen again."

Archer leaned forward, cognizant that there were others present and he was discussing one of his senior officers. In a low voice he asked, "You won't let what happen again?"

Phlox jerked, and blinked at Archer. "I'm sorry, captain. I shouldn't have said that. I can't discuss it. Patient confidentialty. You understand." Phlox rose. "I need to check on my patients, captain. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed are in the back corner. They were asleep last time I checked, but if you need to speak with them-"

"That's all right. I'll talk with them later. When can Commander Tucker leave sickbay? We're going to need him to restart the engine."

Phlox furrowed his brow. "By the morning his thinking should be clear. The burn on his leg will need additional treatments with my Erithmic eel, but he could go to engineering and assist." Archer knew that at the start of their mission Phlox would have argued against releasing Tucker so early, but the doctor had learned the realities of space travel on an Earth vessel.

"And Lieutenant Reed?"

Phlox shook his head vehemently. "He can't be released for some time, captain. He-"

Archer lifted a hand to cut the doctor off. "I realize that. I was just wondering."

"My apologies captain. Of course you're concerned. I don't know. He barely avoided intubation. I am hopeful that the edema will fully resolve over the next few days, and then he'll need a few more days off. His eyes were badly affected as well. It will be a few days before his vision clears. But he will recover. This time."

"This time?"

Phlox just shook his head.

*****

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Reed rolled to his side, and with his right hand swiped at the air, trying to turn off the alarm. When his efforts proved futile and the beeping continued, he tried to bury his head in his pillow. He could still hear the sound. Irritated he rolled on to his back and opened his eyes- and immediately slammed them closed again, groaning at the light. Now that he was more awake the beeping was fading, and he recognized it as the biobed monitor, announcing his heartbeat. Keeping his eyes closed, he strained to hear what was happening around him. The soft murmur of voices reached him. The sickbay creatures were chirping and twittering in the background. He could also hear other beeping from other biobed monitors. He sighed, and turned to assessing his own situation. All things considered he felt remarkably well. His eyes felt grainy and he had no desire to open them again, and his chest felt heavy and sore, but he felt no other pain. He was comfortable, drifting, the result of painkillers he was certain. He tried to sit up, but it too much effort and he collapsed back onto the soft pillows, content to lie in warm comfort. He recognized that his peaceful lethargy was medication induced, but he didn't care.

A soft chuckle from his left drew his attention and he turned his head in that direction, still too drowsy and comfortable to make the effort to open his eyes.

"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," Trip drawled.

"Mmmm," Malcolm replied drowsily. With an effort he opened his eyes and squinted at Trip. "Sleepy."

Trip grinned. It was unusual to see Malcolm so uninhibited. He was obviously still in the grip of the medications running into his arm.

Malcolm's mouth opened in a huge yawn, and his eyes drifted closed again. "What happened?"

"Oh, the usual. Ship in peril, you running around acting like a hero, saving the ship. Same ole thing," Trip replied. "Got yourself a pretty good dose of radiation and breathed in a heck of a lot of plasma and crisolige fumes."

"Oh. Right." Malcolm sighed. His nose itched and he reached up to scratch it. His fingers encountered hard plastic and he realized he was wearing an oxygen mask. He pushed it off his face.

"Better leave that alone. Phlox will be mad as hell if he comes back and that thing is off again. It's giving you some sort of medicine for your lungs." Trip's voice was teasing, but held a note of command. He sobered. "You sure gave him a hard time, Malcolm. "

Malcolm's eyes came open again. He worked to sit up again, and his eyes roamed sickbay. "Who else is injured? Did anyone," Malcolm gulped, "die?"

"No. A lot of injuries, mostly minor. Rostov broke his arm, and he got a lot of radiaton. Not as much as you though."

"Phlox provided treatment to everyone promptly, though? He didn't delay their treatment on my account?" Malcolm was becoming agitated, the sluggishness he'd been displaying gone. He frantically searched sickbay.

"Huh?" Trip was confused, "Delay treatment? No, of course not. Phlox wouldn't do that- what are you talking about, Malcolm?"

Malcolm lay back, relieved. Phlox had treated everyone promptly. No one had died because of him. He let the warm sluggishness wash back over him. The slight pressure on his upper arm let him know that he had an intravenous line and he realized he was still getting medications. Some small part of his mind rebelled against being sedated, but he couldn't focus long enough to get truly upset. He could hear Trip chuckling. "What are you laughing at, Commander?" he asked.

"You. I've never seen you so… relaxed."

"It's the medication," Reed struggled to maintain some dignity, but couldn't restrain another large yawn.

"Well, you were kicking up such a fuss, I can't blame Phlox," Trip said. "Really, Malcolm, what do you have against him? You haven't exactly been treating him fairly, you know."

"I most certainly have been," Malcolm roused to voice his protest. "He just… he needs to be accountable."

"Well, sure. But it's not like he wasn't doing his best. There's something else going on Malcolm. I know once you sink your teeth into something, you're pretty persistent, but this isn't like you."

Malcolm yawned again. He felt loose, open. Part of him thought he shouldn't be talking to Trip about this, but another part wanted to make Trip understand. "Did I ever tell you about my cousin?"

Trip looked over at the armory officer. Malcolm was lying on his biobed, eyes closed, body quiet. He seemed relaxed, but something told Trip that it wasn't an idle question. "No."

"Oh." Malcolm fell silent, seeming disappointed by the reply.

"Do you want to? Tell me about him... or her?"

"Him. He was my father's brother's son."

Trip remained silent, just listening.

"We were pretty close. They called us the Terror Twins; he was three days older than I was, and we only lived three houses apart." Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to look at Trip. He had a distant look in his eyes and a slight smile as he remembered. "We had a lot of fun, got into a lot of trouble..." Malcolm chuckled. "One time we were grounded for a week for filling Maddie and Lana's- that was his sister-beds full of spiders."

Trip shuddered. "You shoulda been grounded for a month."

Malcolm chuckled. "We nearly were." He fell silent, and Trip wondered if that was all he would say. The smile left Malcolm's face. "He died when we were sixteen."

"I'm sorry." Trip paused, uncertain what to say and a little uncomfortable. Malcolm was clearly under the influence of drugs, or he would never be sharing something this personal. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"He had a brain tumor." Malcolm was no longer looking at Trip, but as gazing at the ceiling. "One that was operable, if it had been caught in time. It wasn't really in his brain— it was on the lining of his brain. But it got too big, and he had a seizure while he was swimming. He drowned. He hadn't been under that long when he was pulled out, but-" Malcolm paused for a long time before finally continuing. "It took too long to get to the hospital."

Trip knew there was more to the story. The drugs might have loosened Malcolm's inhibitions, but Trip suspected the armory officer had wanted to tell someone this story for a long time.

"Were you with him?"

Malcolm nodded. "I pulled him out of the water. It wasn't too deep. I tried to give him CPR, but…" Malcolm turned his head away from Trip to look at the opposite well, and Trip knew Malcolm was in a different time and place. Somewhere in sickbay there was an alarm chimed and Malcolm started, brought abruptly back to the present. He glanced around, looking to see if anyone else was paying any attention to their conversation. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. "We'd gone camping. We never should have-- I knew he was too weak, that he hadn't been feeling well, but he insisted. If we hadn't, he might have been able to get to a hospital. He might have been saved. But our fathers listened to the doctors. They said he was malingering, trying to get out of school because he'd been having some academic difficulty. He wanted to prove them wrong." Malcolm's trailed off, and he didn't say anything more for several moments. Trip thought he'd fallen back asleep, but then Malcolm's eyes fluttered open again.

Trip took advantage. "Listened to the doctors?" he prompted.

"Yes. Brian had gone to the doctor when he started having problems with his coordination, but they said there was nothing wrong, that he was just going through 'an awkward stage'. They never did a thorough examination, once they found out that he had failed a math exam the week before. They thought he was looking for an excuse. When he started having vision problems, they said he needed glasses. They ignored the fact that he told them he was having other problems...." Malcolm trailed off, swallowed hard. "They never believed him. The tumor could have been removed. It was benign and it was in a place where surgery could have helped. Or other treatments. But the doctor didn't believe him, didn't take him seriously. And he died." As he spoke Malcolm had been fiddling with the edge of his blanket. Now he yawned again, and his eyes drifted shut.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded acknowledgement, but didn't open his eyes.

"What happened to the doctor?" Trip persisted. Malcolm shrugged and forced his eyes open. His fingers were still worrying the edge of his blanket, and he tugged on a thread. He seemed surprised when it broke in his hand. He looked over at Trip, and Trip noted how glazed Malcolm's eyes were. "My uncle filed a complaint, and I think he was censured, or put on some sort of probation, because it was the first official complaint against him. But Trip... it wasn't the first time it had happened. We found out that something similar had happened with a young girl-- he'd missed her heart condition. But her family hadn't complained. If they had, he might not have been practicing. My cousin might have lived, if they'd had the courage to complain." Malcolm released the blanket and his hands dropped. "I'm very sleepy, Commander. I'm going to take a nap now," he said, his voice faraway, almost dreamy. He pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and rolled to his side, facing away from Trip.

"Sure," Trip replied, staring at Malcolm's back. Malcolm hadn't shown any emotion while relaying his story. Watching the sleeping armory officer, Trip was certain he hadn't heard the whole story. A thought came to him. At first Trip pushed away the idea, not wanting to consider it. Taking advantage of the information Malcolm had revealed while in a drugged state repelled him. Malcolm had never before shared such personal information; if Trip used it, their friendship might be over.

But there was Phlox to consider. He had a responsibility to Phlox, too. If the doctor lost at the hearing, he could lose his career with Starfleet. Trip didn't know what repercussions there would be on Denobula. He hadn't discussed it with Phlox, but Trip was certain that at a minimum his reputation would be tarnished. His selection to the Exchange Program had been a high honor, but it had made him well known on Denobula. The disgrace of being found guilty of causing a death would certainly follow him home.

Trip was in a no-win situation. He didn't want to think about the hearing anymore. Even thinking about his damaged warp engine was preferable to his current dilemma. Glancing over at Malcolm, Trip felt a pang of jealousy. At least the armory officer was getting some sleep. Trip sighed, and lay back on his bed, wondering if he would be able to fall asleep. He closed his eyes….

And opened them again several hours later to Phlox voice.

With a stealth born of years of experience working around sleeping people, Phlox had silently approached Trip's bed, before gently calling to the engineer. When Trip opened his eyes, Phlox deftly removed the bandage on Trip's thigh to examine it. He nodded, pleased at the progress, and began applying a strongly scented salve. The doctor glanced at the adjacent biobed. Noticing that Reed was now facing the wall, his brow furrowed. "Is Lieutenant Reed awake?" he asked quietly.

"He was," Trip replied. "But he went right back to sleep. He was kinda odd- real relaxed, for him. He told me a story about when he was a boy, and then drifted off again."

Phlox had finished applying the salve, and was securing a fresh bandage. When he finished he moved to Malcolm's biobed and studied the monitors over Malcolm's head. He made a slight adjustment to one of them. "I want him to rest, but not for too long." Phlox chuckled. "I doubt he was really aware he was awake when he was talking to you."

Trip stared at the doctor. He felt a tightening in his stomach, the uncomfortable feeling that he had been a voyeur. "Not really awake?"

Phlox shook his head. "A little perhaps, but he likely won't even remember speaking to you. The medication he's getting is not only a sedative, but an amnestic. Some of the treatments he needed were unpleasant. I didn't really want him to remember much. "

Trip swallowed hard. He'd been struggling with whether or not to use Malcolm's revelation, and if Malcolm hadn't even been really awake, might not even recall the conversation, made the decision ever more difficult. He didn't mention his concerns to Phlox. Instead he just said, "When will he wake up? Really wake up?"

"Oh, very shortly I imagine. I've stopped the medication. His body was terribly stressed, and he needs sleep to recover, but he should wake soon."

As though to prove Phlox words, Malcolm stirred. He rolled to this back, and Trip and Phlox saw him stretch. After a large yawn, he rolled to his left side, and opened his eyes. Spotting Phlox he tensed. Trip could see Malcolm's muscles contract, and Malcolm's face, which had been soft with sleep, tightened. An instant later he partially relaxed, but his guard was up.

Trip felt a wave of sadness at Malcolm's reaction. It drove home how tense Malcolm normally was. Trip was so accustomed to Malcolm's usual wariness and taut alertness, that he no longer consciously noticed it. The contrast to his recently relaxed state was stark. He couldn't remember ever seeing Malcolm relaxed, sickbay visits aside. Even on shore leave, Malcolm didn't let himself lose control. Remembering their ill-fated visit to Risa, Trip realized Malcolm had not really let loose. He had sipped at drinks, soaked in the atmosphere—but when they'd left their drinks on the table to follow the aliens down to the subterranean gardens, Malcolm's was still half full. It must be exhausting to be on guard every waking moment, thought Trip.

"Doctor," Malcolm said. "Trip." He rolled to his back, and sat up. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Twelve hours, give or take," Trip said, with a grin. "You woke up once, but not for too long."

Malcolm nodded, and Trip knew he was trying to shake off his sluggishness.

"The ship? The engine? Is the engine okay?"

"Yup. Your guys have managed to clean up the core pretty good, after you made such a mess of it."

"My men?" Reed asked, his brow creased.

"Yea, most of my guys got some radiation, or had other injuries, so your guys were recruited. They've been scraping the crisolige out of the core."

"Oh. I see," Malcolm replied, but Trip knew he was trying to catch up. Malcolm swung his legs over the side of the bed. Phlox moved closer, and when Malcolm wavered, the doctor put out a supportive hand.

"Easy, lieutenant. You've been sleeping quite a while, and you're not well yet. Your lungs still have some fluid in them, and you need several more treatments for radiation. Not to mention needing fluids and a good meal. "

"We have to get the engine restarted," Malcolm insisted, trying again to stand. Phlox blocked his movement and fixed him with a glare.

"NO, lieutenant. That's final. Do you want me to restrain you?"

Malcolm's glare matched the doctor's, but he slid back into bed. Trip knew Malcolm must feel ill to surrender so easily.

"Commander, lieutenant. I've got work to do. I trust you to behave yourselves." Phlox fixed them with a stern look. "Commander, I plan to release you in a short while. Don't do anything to make me change my mind." With one last glance back, he returned to his lab.

Trip sighed. "He doesn't pull any punches does he?" He looked at Malcolm, who was sitting propped on his bed, scowling.

"No."

While Trip's tone had been light, Malcolm's was anything but. Trip studied his friend. He desperately wanted to know if Malcolm remembered their earlier conversation. Hesitantly he began. "Malcolm?"

"Yes, commander?" Malcolm wasn't helping him any.

"I'm sorry about your cousin," Trip blurted.

Malcolm's mouth dropped and his eyes widened. For an instant he froze, but he recovered quickly. His mouth closed with a snap. "What?" The word was forced.

"Your cousin. I'm sorry-"

"What do you know about my cousin?" Malcolm demanded.

"Just what you told me," Trip replied hastily. "When you woke up before. Don't you remember?" Trip knew that Malcolm didn't remember, but this was Trip's way of clueing Malcolm in to the fact that he had unknowingly revealed the very personal story to Trip.

Malcolm shook his head. "What, exactly, did I tell you, commander?" Malcolm demanded. He sounded in control, but Trip could see that he was trembling, and his voice shook on the question.

"Just that he died when you were sixteen," Trip lied. He wasn't sure why, but he following his gut instinct.

"What else?" Malcolm sat stiffly in bed, his gaze fixed on Trip, searching for any sign that he had revealed more than Trip was admitting to.

"That's about it. You were pretty groggy," Trip was deliberately vague. "But Malcolm, I AM sorry about your cousin."

Malcolm relaxed infinitesimally. "Thank you, commander. It was a long time ago." Malcolm turned away and feigned a yawn. He shut his eyes with deliberate finality, and Trip knew Malcolm would not be telling him anything more.

*****

"Commander Tucker! Think you'll be getting out of bed and doing some work anytime soon?" Archer burst through the doors to sickbay in an explosion of energy. He grinned at his long-time friend and chief engineer. A shower, sleep, and good meal had made all the difference. The short lived depression that had hit him on seeing the state of his engines was past. He was once again the captain, in charge, and ready to get his ship moving. T'Pol and the armory crew had done an amazing job of cleaning the warp core, and were in the process of transferring the warp plasma from the reserve stores tank to the engine. They had delayed this task when Archer had insisted that everyone take a break and get some sleep. The crew had benefited from the break as much as Archer. In another hour they could attempt a restart of the warp core. The nervous anticipation was flooding his body with adrenalin, and it was all he could do to stay still. With nothing to do on the bridge while the ship was motionless, and finding he was only in the way in engineering, he elected to visit sickbay. It was nearly empty now. Only Trip, Reed, Rostov, and Heller remained. The others had either been returned to duty or were recuperating in their quarters.

"Hey, sir!" Trip returned Archer's greeting. "Good to see you! Hey, how is my engine?"

"Coming along. You about ready to go check things out? I'd like you to be in charge of the restart."

Trip sobered, knowing how critical the next few hours would be. "Phlox said I could go to engineering for the restart. My leg needs a few more treatments, but I don't have to stay here. In fact, I was planning to head back to my quarters. Phlox wanted to give me one more treatment before I left, for the radiation. He should spring me in an hour or so."

"Great." Archer glanced around. "Malcolm around?"

"I think he's in the shower. He just woke up. He was pretty wiped out- he's basically been asleep since he got here." Trip paused. "Captain, I need to ask you something."

Archer raised his eyebrows.

"Phlox hearing-"

"Trip, that is the least of my concerns right now, " Archer interrupted.

"I know, captain. Mine too. But with all that has happened, will the hearing be dropped?"

Archer considered. Finally he shook his head. "No. I don't think so. The issue was never whether or not Phlox could do his job. The question was whether or not he did the right thing with Ensign Carey. Eventually we'll have to resume. But it's my lowest priority right now. "

Trip studied the floor, thinking. "But when we do resume, I'll still be defending Phlox, right?"

"Of course."

"And Phlox deserves the best possible defense, doesn't he?"

Again Archer replied with, "Of course." Then he added, "What's this about, Trip?"

"If I was a real lawyer, defending a client, I'd have the right to look into things that might be important for Phlox defense, things that explain why he made the decisions he did, right? But right now, I'm not allowed access to the files I need."

"What sort of files?" Archer sounded suspicious. Trip told him.

"I don't know Trip. I see your point, but I'll have to talk to Admiral Forrest. If he agrees, I'll see that you get the appropriate access. For now, though, we have more pressing concerns."

"I agree, sir. But, if the hearing is going to resume, I have to do my best by Phlox."

"Yes. You do. But what about doing right by Malcolm?"

Trip met Archer's eyes, and Archer saw his friend's pain. "I don't know what else to do, captain," Trip muttered. "

"I'm sorry to have put you in this situation, Trip. But what you're doing for Phlox, what you plan to do- it proves to me you're the right man for the job."

Archer's words didn't make Trip feel any better.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I feel I need to offer a warning at this point. When I start a story I seldom know where it will go. I usually have a vague idea, but then the characters go where they will- and I'm frequently surprised. This story, which has been in progress for a few years now, had been plagued by writers block. The characters wouldn't show me where they were going. I had an idea, but the characters wouldn't speak. And then- they spoke, the block was broken, and the story took a twist on me I didn't expect. This section is nearly 5000 words, and I have another 4000 words written, but I'm concerned because the next section is darker than my usual style, and deals with some tough issues- I'm struggling with presenting it as written, or rewriting it. I do want to warn readers that if you proceed, the next chapter will deal with some sensitive issues.

Again, thanks to the readers, and especially the reviewers- it keeps me motivated to post more promptly.

* * *

The engine room was packed with the Enterprise's crew. Trip was perched by the warp core controls. He gestured to T'Pol who was on the floor at the monitor bank, and she signaled that she was ready. A hush fell over the engine room. Trip glanced at the captain, one hand on the ignition key, the over on the toggle that controlled the mix. He met Archer's eyes. Archer nodded at him. Trip's hand tightened on the toggle and with a deep breath he punched the ignition switch. The engine roared. Trip made a hasty correction, and the engine smoothed. For several tense seconds Trip manipulated the toggle. The engine tone fluxed up and down, but finally settled in a smooth, low hum.

The engine room burst into sound, a raucous celebration. Archer grinned, and came down from his perch on the catwalk, meaning to congratulate Trip. Crewmen were laughing and joking, the relief palpable. As Archer made his way through the crowd, he spotted Malcolm standing just inside the entrance. He changed course and made his way towards the armory officer. Malcolm saw him approaching and straightened from where he had slumped against the wall.

"Malcolm. Glad you made it. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be restarting the engine. We wouldn't be here at all."

"Thank you, sir. Just doing my job." Malcolm's gaze raked the room. He seemed satisfied with what he saw. He turned back to Archer. "That went well. I was concerned that we wouldn't be to get the mix right for a cold start. You know an Earth ship has never had a cold start outside of space dock. At least not that we know of."

"Trip told me," Archer replied. He was pleased that Reed had made it. He deserved to be here to enjoy the celebration. Archer didn't ask if Phlox had given Malcolm permission to leave sickbay—he didn't want to know the answer. Malcolm seemed content to watch the celebration from the sidelines. He looked better, Archer noted. While Malcolm was still coughing frequently, his cheeks had a touch of color, and his eyes were alert. "Malcolm, I'm going to talk to Trip for a moment. Are you going to be here for a while?"

Malcolm nodded, but didn't elaborate. He was still watching the crowed, a small smile on his face. Archer left him there, and made his way toward Trip. It was easier now, since the crowd had started to disperse. Reaching the warp core he tilted his head back to look at Trip. "Commander!"

Trip leaned over the rail. "Hey, Captain. Glad that's over with! I was a little worried there for a moment, but ole Betty here came through for me. I never shoulda doubted her."

"Betty?" Archer was amused.

"Sure, captain. Every engine needs name. "

Archer chuckled. "Trip, I don't think I even wanted to know. I just wanted to congratulate you on getting 'Betty' here going again."

"Thanks, Captain, but I didn't do the hard work. Malcolm saved the engine in the first place, and his armory guys and T'Pol did the work to get things ready again. I just pushed the button," Trip grinned.

"It was a team effort," Archer agreed. "Well, now that we've got an engine again, I've got work to do. I need to let Admiral Forrest know that we're back in business." Archer grinned at his engineer and turned away. He made his way toward the exit, stopping to thank and congratulate crewmen as he went.

_Skreech._ The high-pitched, alarm interrupted Archer and grabbed the attention of everyone in the engine room. Trip spun around, studying the monitors before him. His hands flew to the controls. Malcolm shot across the room, and was up on the platform before Archer could stop him. He tried to nudge Trip aside, but the engineer resisted. Malcolm tried again shoving harder against Trip. Trip didn't expect the action, and stumbled. His momentum carried him far enough that he had to step down onto the platform stairs. Malcolm took immediate advantage, grabbing the controls.

"Get out!" Malcolm ground out from clenched teeth. "It's a radiation leak! The core shielding must have been cracked. Everyone out! Trip, get out!"

Most of the crew fled, following Malcolm's order. Trip was scrambling back up to the platform. Archer spun and tried to get back to the warp core, but he had to fight his way through the fleeing crew. The annoying screech continued.

Phlox had left sickbay to watch the engine restart. Now he appeared at Archer's side. Looking up at the warp core platform, he called up. "Lieutenant Reed! Come down immediately. You can't be exposed to any more radiation! Lieutenant! Let Commander Tucker take care of it!"

Malcolm didn't reply. His hands grasped the controls, but he didn't change them. His brow furrowed with confusion. Trip had recovered his balance and was back on the platform. Malcolm refused to yield his position. "Get out of here," he growled at Trip. "You're hurt!" He yelled to be heard over the alarm.

Trip snorted, not bothering to reply. Using his greater height and weight he shoved Malcolm away from the controls, physically pushed him to the stairs, maneuvering his body to prevent Malcolm from returning to the controls. He heard a shout of protest behind him, and then a cry of outrage from the floor below him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Phlox and Archer dragging Malcolm out of the engineering room. Trip re-focused on the controls. He stared at them, confused. They all read as normal. As he tried to make sense of the information, the alarm abruptly silenced. Simultaneously he heard T'Pol call out, "All clear! There is no radiation leak!"

"Are you sure?" Trip asked, wanting to be certain.

"Yes, Commander. The alarm was resetting. There was a small amount of residual radiation on the sensor. When the engine was restarted, the alarm came back on line and responded to the last conditions it encountered. Once it read the current conditions it cleared. The backup sensors all read clear. There is no radiation leak."

Trip took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "That makes sense. Everything up here is reading just fine. I couldn't figure out where the problem was." He grabbed the safety rails and limped down the stairs. "Sure gave me a scare."

T'Pol nodded. "I think that is the case for much of the crew."

"What about you?" Trip asked with a grin.

"I was concerned," T'Pol conceded. "If there had truly been a radiation leak, I don't believe we would have been able to again successfully shut down and restart the engine. Enterprise's mission would be over."

"Not to mention possibly our lives," Trip replied dryly. "What the hell did Malcolm think he was doing? He's no engineer. If there had been a leak, I was the best one to manage it. The last thing he needs is more radiation. Not that it would have been too good for me, or anyone else."

"I think that was Lieutenant Reed's concern."

"I think you're right, Sub-Commander," Trip said. _And I'm going to get to the bottom of this before he manages to kill himself_, he added mentally.

*******************

Following the successful restart, Trip spent every moment he could in engineering, monitoring every aspect of the engines, checking plasma reserves, and supervising his team doing a tedious inch by inch evaluation of the warp core, looking for even microscopic disruptions of the hull. They found nothing significant, but incorporated routine maintenance. Four days later he and his team were exhausted, but the engine was in close to pristine condition. Making one final check, he scrubbed his dirty hands off on his uniform and then grinned as T'Pol, who had been spending nearly as much time in engineering as Trip, shot him a look. Her eyes raked over him, and he glanced down. He was filthy. He lifted his eyes back to meet hers and shrugged. "Yeah, I'm a mess. I've had other priorities."

T'Pol didn't respond directly. Instead she said "I will inform the captain that we can return to regular ship operations. The extra rotations are no longer necessary. I will let him know that you are attending to lower priorities."

Trip stared at her. Was T'Pol actually attempting humor? He wasn't certain. He didn't think he'd ever understand the Vulcan. He chuckled. "Okay, I can take a hint. I'll see you on the bridge, later."

T'Pol nodded acknowledgement. They left engineering in companionable silence. As they reached the turbolift, Trip took a deep breath. "It's been a long week, hasn't it? I'm exhausted."

"That is not surprising. During this week, we've have a near warp core breach, you've been injured and suffered radiation injury, and you've spent the last four days with little sleep, and doing hard labor, which I do not believe you were medically cleared for. It is understandable that you are exhausted."

"Well, when you put it that way," Trip snorted. "I was cleared medically by the way."

T'Pol fixed him with a look.

"Well, mostly," he admitted.

"Perhaps you should make a visit to the doctor, as a precaution."

"T'Pol, I'm fine," Trip insisted. "But I do need to talk to Phlox, see how thing are going in sickbay. I think I'll stop by."

"I would suggest you attend to the 'lower priorities' first," T'Pol replied.

* * *

Thirty minutes, a shower, and a hot meal later, Trip was feeling refreshed, if not rested. His eyes felt gritty, and heavy, and a glance in the mirror as he pulled his comb through his head had revealed how red they were. He would crash soon, but trying to sleep now would be futile. He was too awake. A visit to sickbay, a chat with Phlox, a quick visit to the bridge, and he'd be able to sleep. He stepped out of his cabin and strolled toward the turbolift, greeting crewmembers along the way. The corridors were more empty than usual. T'Pol's report to Archer had resulted in the captain decreeing that they would keep minimal crew on duty, and allow as much down time for everyone as possible, to make up for the preceding hectic days. Stepping into the turbolift he leaned against the wall. His energy level was dropping fast. Maybe he wouldn't go to the bridge after all. The turbolift glided to a halt. Pushing himself away from the wall with a sigh, he exited. Thirty seconds later he was in sickbay.

Sickbay was empty, the lights dimmed to half intensity. Phlox was not in sight. Trip stood in the doorway glancing around. There was no indication that the area had been crowded with injured crewman just a few days ago. A shrill chirp interrupted the quiet. "All right, all right, I'm bringing your dinner." Phlox appeared from the storage room, carrying a covered bowl. The doctor glanced up, saw Trip, and added,  
"I'll be with you in just a moment, Commander. My Icionian half bat is hungry, and is making quite a nuisance of himself. "

Trip looked away. He had long since learned that watching Phlox feed some of his creatures wasn't always pleasant. Another shrill screech, and then slurping sounds, validated his decision.

"Yes, wasn't that tasty? You keep making anticoagulant in your gut, and you'll keep getting tasty treats," Phlox cooed at the cage. Trip shuddered. Phlox turned his attention to the engineer. What can I do for you, Mr. Tucker?"

"Hey, doc. Just wondered how things were going down here. Looks pretty quiet now."

Phlox closed the cage, and set his bowl down. He moved over to the lab table and sat down, gesturing for Trip to do likewise. "It's been much quieter. I still have a few crewmen coming in for daily treatments for their radiation exposure, but they're all doing well. I think everyone will be back on full duty by the end of the week."

"Even Malcolm?"

A fleeting expression passed over the doctor's face, but it was gone before Trip could identify the emotion. The doctor dropped his eyes. "Yes, even Mr. Reed. Despite his best efforts to find new and unusual ways to set back his progress, he'll be on full duty in the next few days."

"What did he do now?" Trip asked. Phlox shook his head, and Trip put on his command voice. "As third in command, I need to report to the captain the status of the crew, doctor."

Phlox chuckled. "Good try, Commander, but I've already given the report to the captain. Mr. Reed simply hasn't gotten the rest I'd have liked, and his eyes are going to be giving him trouble for some time, especially if he doesn't give them some rest. Speaking of getting rest, Commander, didn't I put YOU on limited duty? I understand you've been living in engineering. I never agreed to that."

Trip flushed, caught. He could hardly say anything about Malcolm's non-compliance with the doctor's orders when he himself hadn't been obeying. He tried to change the subject.

"Doctor, I hate to bring it up, 'specially since you've been so busy down here, but-" Trip began.

"The hearing," Phlox sighed. "Yes, I've not forgotten it."

"Doctor, I've been appointed as your attorney. You've got to talk to me."

Phlox raised his eyes to meet Trip's, but didn't speak.

"You've got to tell me everything. I know you have information that could be used. Geez, doc, you've got to defend yourself! You have to let people know what you were thinking at the time. Otherwise, Malcolm is going to just say you made bad judgments."

"There is little I can do about that," Phlox replied placidly. "Some of the calls I made were questionable."

Trip hit the table with a clenched first, and Phlox jumped. "Doc, hindsight is twenty-twenty. But I know you had reasons for doing what you did. You've gotta tell people. Explain. They'll understand."

Phlox shook his head firmly. "Commander, I've already told you. I can't reveal confidential information. Not to you, and certainly not to the panel."

Trip let out a puff of air, and leaned back in his chair. "Can't you sorta explain why you made the decisions you did without telling the details? Say that you know things about them that made you make the decisions you did?"

Phlox gave a wry smile. "Tell the jury 'trust me, I had a good reason' and hope for the best you mean? It's an interesting strategy, Commander, but one that I doubt would be successful."

Trip stood up, and began pacing around sickbay. "Come on doc, work with me here. There has to be something you can say, without violating confidentiality. This is your career, your life here. Besides, aren't you allowed to tell what happens if someone accuses you of malpractice? "

Phlox shook his head. "If the lieutenant was accusing me of having committed malpractice on him, that would be different. His medical records would be fair game. But he isn't accusing me of that. Technically he isn't accusing me at all. This is an investigation into a death, and he's acting in his official capacity. So I really have no justification for violating his confidentiality."

"Except that there is something in his records that explains why you made the decisions you did, right?" Trip asked.

Phlox nodded, and gave a humorless laugh. "Ironic isn't it?"

Trip sat back down. He reached down and rubbed his leg. The skin was still sensitive, but the healing was nearly complete, thanks to Phlox eel. He considered the doctor's words. "There is no way around the confidentiality stuff, is there." It was a statement, not a question.

"No."

"Could you explain to Malcolm why you made the decisions you did, and maybe he'll drop the charges."

Phlox shook his head. "As I said, Commander, the lieutenant isn't the one bringing the charges. It's an investigative hearing. Even if he wanted to stop the proceedings, he isn't authorized to. Neither is the captain. I suppose Starfleet could, but we've come full circle- I'd have to violate confidentiality to give them a reason."

"Damn. This is messed up," Trip said. He leaned back in his chair and let his head fall back. He studied the ceiling. "I don't see that you have any other options, but," Trip paused and then blurted out, "Can you tell me? As your lawyer I need to know the facts, and I can't reveal anything you don't want me to. I might be able to defend you better, ask more direct questions. Hell, I might even end up calling Malcolm as a witness for you-"

"No!" Phlox stood quickly. "Absolutely not! I'll take the consequences of being found liable in Ensign Carey's death before I'll have private medical information used to justify calling a patient as a witness to defend myself. It's out of the question."

Trip raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, doc, okay. I'm just trying to help. " Trip shook his head, frustrated. "But you have to tell me. Even if I can't use it directly, I need to know. _I_ need to understand."

Phlox spoke clearly. "I had good reason to believe that Lieutenant Reed was more seriously injured than Ensign Carey, based on both their presentation at the time, as well as their respective medical histories. That is what I will say during the hearing. That is all I _can _say."

* * *

Trip left sickbay unsatisfied. It was obvious to him that Phlox had a good reason for his actions, and Malcolm's recent behavior was certainly suspicious, but the doctor was not going to cooperate in his own defense. Trip was going to have to use other methods. Grumpy from lack of sleep he stomped onto the bridge. At the sound of the turbolift door opening, Archer turned. One look at Trip's face, and he stood. "Commander?"

Trip shook his head, indicating he was not going to talk on the bridge.

Archer stepped over to Hoshi's station. "Anything in sensor range, Ensign?"

"No, sir," she replied, sounding vaguely puzzled that Archer would be asking her if there was any danger, knowing she would report anything unusual.

"T'Pol, you've got the bridge," Archer told his science officer. He gestured to Trip. "Commander, lets step out for a moment." Archer led Trip to his ready room. When the door clicked shut behind him he turned to the engineer. "What's on your mind, Trip?"

Trip's jaw dropped. "What makes you think-"

"How long have we known each other? What's going on?"

Trip plopped himself down into the nearest chair, fatigue washing over him. "It's Phlox. He has a good reason for doing what he did, but he won't tell me, and he won't defend himself. How is supposed to get a fair hearing, if he won't help himself? I ask you, how?"

Archer sat down behind his desk. He studied his chief engineer. "You tell me, Trip. "

Trip leaned forward, elbows on knees, supporting his head in his hands. "I have to find a way to present the information that he'll accept." Trip sighed. "I guess I have a lot of work to do."

"Yes," Archer agreed. "But not right now. Why don't you get some sleep? You look exhausted. By the way, I was speaking with Admiral Forrest, and he wanted me to pass on his congratulations for a job well done. A plasma reload outside of space dock, and a cold restart- more history for Enterprise."

Trip sat up straight. "Well, we wouldn't have had the chance to make history if we'd breached our warp core. Thanks to Malcolm that didn't happen. He deserves the credit."

"And he'll get it. But you deserve credit, too, Trip. The whole crew does. " Archer smiled at the tired engineer. "Get some sleep, though."

"Okay," Trip stood up, and then turned. He put both hands on the back of the chair he'd just vacated and propped himself up. "Did the Admiral say when the hearing would resume? Did you tell him how great Phlox was during the emergency?"

Archer's smile faded. "He left it up to me, but he said, and I quote, 'Get that business taken care of, Captain'. So we'll have to resume the hearing in a few days."

"I need a little time, Captain. I need to investigate a few things."

"Sure you don't want to change careers?" Archer teased. "Become an attorney?"

Trip shuddered. "Perish the thought. When this business is done, I want nothing else to do with hearings, or courtrooms, or any of it."

"Trip, I do appreciate what you're doing. I'll give you a week to before we resume. Fair enough?" Archer offered the little help he could.

"Fair enough."

"Get some sleep, Trip."

* * *

Malcolm stepped into sickbay. He hated coming here. Never had liked it, but it was much worse since the shuttle accident. He didn't want to speak with Phlox. It was hard to face the doctor since the shuttle accident, worse since the hearing had begun. He knew Phlox was not a bad man, but Malcolm firmly believed the doctor had made a tragic mistake. He had to be held accountable for it. It made coming to sickbay and facing Phlox damn uncomfortable.

The doctor was working at his desk. The hiss of the door caught his attention and he lifted his head, a welcoming smile on his face. Recognizing Reed, the smile wavered for the briefest instant, but then was fixed firmly in place. "Ah, Lieutenant. Here for your treatment, I presume?"

Malcolm nodded. He moved reluctantly toward the doctor. "This is the last one, correct?"

The doctor rose, grabbing his scanner off the desk top. "I believe I said this _might_ be the last one. Of course if you'd been exposed to more radiation, you'd be on treatments for months, and it's unlikely they would have been effective," Phlox gently chided.

Malcolm flushed. Phlox had said the same thing every day since the engine restart, and there had been a very uncomfortable conversation in Archer's office. Even now remembering caused Malcolm's face to grow hot. The armory officer couldn't remember ever before having heard the captain speak quite so loudly.

Phlox motioned Reed to the nearest biobed. Reed jumped up on it and lay down, used to the drill by now. Phlox studied the monitors, and then ran the hand scanner from Reed's head to his toes. "Hmmm. Well, lieutenant, I think you're right. This should be the last treatment. I'll need to see you back in a week, just for recheck, but I don't think you'll need any additional treatments. How are your eyes?"

Reed grimaced. "They're still rather sore, especially at the end of the day. The drops are helping."

"How often are you using them?" Phlox asked.

"I use the steroid drops twice a day, and the other ones once a day," Malcolm answered.

"Keep using the steroid drops twice a day, but you can use the other ones up to three times a day. If they aren't feeling much better in two more days, I want you to come back here. I can increase the steroid dose if I have to. Now, into the treatment chamber."

Reed groaned. He hated going into the treatment chamber. It didn't hurt, but it was loud and made his skin tingle unpleasantly, and the medication for his lungs made them feel heavy, and caused him to cough for hours after the treatment. Reluctantly he walked to the chamber and lay on the bed outside the door. Phlox pulled open the door, and slid the tray bearing Reed in. He latched the door and set the controls. He spoke into the intercom. "An hour and fifteen minutes, Mr. Reed." He ignored Reed's protest. Most of the treatments had been an hour, but since this was the last treatment, he was going to expand it, knowing he could not depend on Reed to report any return of symptoms. With nothing more to do for an hour and fifteen minutes, and unable to leave the immediate area while Reed was in the chamber, Phlox settled at this desk to try to catch up on the myriad of reports that had gone undone during the recent emergency. His charting was up to date- Phlox was fastidious about that- but supply requisitions, disease surveillance reports, and regular health maintenance appointments for the crew were all behind. It would take more than hour and fifteen minutes, but at least he could make a dent. Opening his computer interface he noted an alert flashing at him. He touched the screen to open the alert, read it, and sighed.

Commander Tucker was persistent, Phlox reflected. The doctor had set up an alert system so that queries on specific records were brought to his attention. He tapped the screen, denying the request, and was about to move on, when he noticed another alert. He frowned. This one was just an alert. He had no control over the records that were being queried, as they weren't medical records. He had set up a notification system so that he would be aware the records were being reviewed, so he could be prepared, although he could do nothing about it. His stomach tightened. Commander Tucker was determined to get the information he sought one way or the other, and Phlox would not be able to stop him. He glanced over at the closed treatment chamber, fearing for the man inside, and his reaction to what Trip would undoubtedly uncover. Events were taking on a momentum of their own, gathering speed, and heading towards an inevitable crash and the accompanying carnage.

Phlox couldn't watch it happen. He loved Enterprise, had come to care deeply for her crew, and wanted dearly to stay on board. Watching Reed try to take control of the warp core during the engine restart, heedless of his own health, had proven to Phlox that his decisions at the time of the shuttle crash were justifiable- even if he had been proven wrong on that occasion. The doctor didn't want to be labeled as incompetent, or removed from his position on Enterprise, but he knew that he would land on his feet. His position in Denobulan medical society was secure. While Trip worried that Phlox reputation would be tarnished, and Phlox was touched at the concern, he inwardly smiled at the thoughts. Denobulans didn't give much credence to human opinion. They found humans delightful and entertaining, but also found them to have limited perspective and experience, a consequence of their species' youth. The human's judgment on the Denobulan doctor would be received by his government with serious nods- and then utterly disregarded.

Phlox wanted to stay on the Enterprise, but the not at the cost of tearing apart the crew. The tension on the ship that had surrounded the hearing had dissipated in the face of the more pressing emergency, but it would return as things settled back to 'normal'. Life on Enterprise was dangerous at the best of times- and if her key officers were not at their best, the danger was increased. The price to be paid to stay on Enterprise would be too high- especially since he would not be the one paying it.

Phlox stood up and went to the treatment chamber. He checked the monitors to make sure that the treatments were progressing well, and that Reed was comfortable. Noting that the armory officer appeared to be napping, he recorded the lieutenant's vital signs. Satisfied that there was nothing else he needed to do for Reed, he stepped over to the intra-ship intercom. He jabbed it.

"Bridge," Hoshi's soft voice came through the speaker.

"Ensign, this is Phlox. I need to speak with the captain."

"He's in his ready room. I'll patch you through," Hoshi told him. There was a faint sound of static, and then the captain's voice.

"Archer here."

"Captain, this is Phlox. I need to speak with you."

"Is there a medical emergency?" Archer's voice was taut.

"No, Captain. Nothing like that. It's personal. Captain… I wish to tender my resignation."


	10. Chapter 10

AN: After the warning I gave with the last chapter, I wanted to reassure readers that the story does not require a change in rating. I am not from the UK, so I apologize if any references aren't quite right. Things should start to make a little more sense now.

Thanks again for reading and sticking with the story.

*****************

"Excuse me?" Archer thought he must have misheard. "You what?"

"I wish to tender my resignation, Captain."

"In my ready room. Now," Archer ordered.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I can't leave sickbay for," Phlox consulted his chronometer, "another hour and forty-five minutes. I have patients."

Archer considered his own schedule. He shook his head ruefully. Enterprise was never boring. He wondered where he could find time to deal with this newest issue in an already too busy day. "I want to see you in my ready room in two hours," Archer finally replied in his best no-nonsense tone.

*******************

Trip stared unhappily at his computer. He hated this sort of research. As an engineer, he'd done more than his fair share of studying, and spent plenty of time deep in his electronic books. Given a choice, though, he'd rather be doing something active; building or repairing something, preferably. Not sitting in front of a computer screen trawling through records. He glanced down at the padd propped next to his computer monitor. He'd outlined the questions he wanted to address and his planned search strategy, an effort to go about his project in an organized fashion. He started with the records that were easy to access. When Enterprise had left space dock, each member of the crew had been given the chance to request a choice of periodicals be transmitted to the ship on a regular basis. Most had picked their home town, and Malcolm had been no exception. He had requested the London Times. He probably hadn't known the downloads would include the historical archives. Trip explored the database, sending simple queries. Malcolm had said his cousin had died when they were sixteen. Doing the math, he had figured out the year of the event, and had searched the archives for any reference to the incident. He'd found Brian's obituary first, a long piece that had extolled Brian's many virtues and accomplishments. Searching a few days further back he found a news piece.

_In a tragic accident at Camp Wray campsite this past Saturday, Brian Reed, age 16, drowned in Lake Windermere. The accident occurred in the late afternoon while swimming with his cousin, Malcolm Reed, 16, who was also injured in the incident. Emergency personnel were called to the scene, but were unable to resuscitate Brian. _

Trip was pleased to have found a report, but was puzzled at what the report didn't say. It didn't mention anything about Brian having a brain tumor, nor did it mention how Malcolm had been injured. The armory officer hadn't said anything about being hurt. Malcolm had said that his cousin had died because of a delay in getting to the hospital, but there was no mention of the amount of time that had elapsed before the emergency personnel had arrived. Trip had more questions than answers, and he jotted them down on the padd before continuing his search.

The next piece of the puzzle was easy to uncover; the medical licensing board databases were public. It only took a few minutes to find what he was looking for, a report of the minutes of a medical board meeting.

_Dr. Charles Orten was brought before the board for investigation into the matter of the death of Brian Reed, 16. A complaint has been brought by the family of Mr. Reed, who died in a swimming accident after a seizure. The complaint contends that Mr. Reed had a brain tumor that Dr. Orten failed to diagnose in a timely manner. The tumor led to a seizure that resulted in a fatal injury to Mr. Reed. Dr Orten's actions were deemed to not have led directly to the death of Mr. Reed. However he failed to take adequate action to diagnose the brain tumor in a timely manner. Dr. Orten's medical license will be suspended for 90 days, and this incident will remain on file. A civil complaint has also been filed._

There was more, talking about conditions for the reinstatement of the license, but that didn't concern Trip. The article verified what Malcolm had already told him, but Trip was still confused. The report said that the doctor's negligence had not directly lead to Brian's death, but Malcolm clearly blamed the doctor. Trip frowned. He was finding more questions than answers. He entered another query. This time it took a few minutes longer to find what he was looking for in the hospital computer records, but eventually he found what he was looking for.

_Autopsy report, Brian Reed, age 16._

There was a lot of technical medical information, which Trip skimmed. He reached the summary, and gave it his full attention.

_The subject, a 16 year old well-nourished white male, died of a fractured C2 vertebra. Death was likely near instantaneous. The subject was found to have a contusion over the sagital suture. The subject was also found to have a 5 cm meningioma above the left temporal lobe. There are multiple post-mortem contusions over the subjects chest caused by resuscitation efforts_. _No other significant abnormalities were noted._

Trip sat back, stunned. Malcolm's cousin had died of a broken neck? Nothing in the news reports had indicated that. All had alluded to a failure of CPR, and that was what Malcolm had told Trip. How had Brian's neck been broken? Did Malcolm even know that his cousin's neck had been broken? Had anyone told him, or did he think that it was his inadequate CPR that had let his cousin die?

With sudden clarity, Trip knew that Malcolm hadn't known. All of Malcolm's behavior pointed to it. Trip wished the reports he'd found were more enlightening. He was certain Phlox had to know about this, and his instinct told him that the doctor knew far more.

With no other easy avenues to explore, Trip had to venture into the area he had been avoiding. He needed to get into the medical database. Tentatively he pushed a few keys, did a quick scan of his monitor, and then adjusted his query. His computer skills were standing him in good stead. He found the screen he needed, and then carefully typed in Malcolm's personnel number. A screen popped up, alerting him that these were sensitive protected records, and unauthorized access could result in legal action. Trip groaned. He had been granted access by Admiral Forrest after Archer had sent him a communication, explaining that to properly defend Phlox Trip needed the information. Admiral Forrest had reluctantly granted it. Still, having it emphasized just how private these records were didn't assuage Trip's guilt. How the records had become so highly classified was a mystery. Malcolm had been a minor at the time. Of course, his father had been a highly ranked Royal Naval officer, and there was always the possibility of blackmail, kidnapping, and other means of using his son against the senior Reed. That was more likely, Trip thought. The protection of the records was undoubtedly meant to protect Malcolm's father.

Trip dreaded this. He didn't want to dig into Malcolm's past. It made him feel dirty, like a voyeur. He spun the chair away from the computer monitor, and for several seconds stared out at space. He had been visualizing a campsite on Earth, trying to reconstruct what had happened there more than a quarter of a century ago, and the juxtaposition of the streaking stars was disorienting at first, but after several seconds his mind cleared. He was back in the hear and now, and he felt calmer. He stood up, and then reached over to turn the computer off. He'd already pried too much, uncovered too much ugliness, and there was much more to be uncovered, Trip was certain. He wanted no part of it. He wanted to go back to being a chief engineer, and to quit moonlighting as an attorney. For now he'd go down to engineering and do his _real_ job.

Thirty minutes of hard work cleaning out the spare parts room had Trip in a better mood, but guilt was niggling at his mind, distracting him. He could refuse to do any further investigation for a time, rail against the assignment, and even protest to Archer, but ultimately he knew he would have to do his duty. He might hate it, but he would do it. With this insight, Trip realized he might as well get it over with. He returned to his quarters, and sick as it made him, he pushed on, consoling himself with the thought that the sooner he started, the sooner the distasteful task would be finished. He had left his computer connected to the medical records database, and within seconds he was logged back in with the password Admiral Forrest had provided, and staring at Malcolm's medical records.

The first screens were routine data. Records of childhood vaccinations, demographic information, and notes about a few minor illnesses, scrolled past. There was a gap of a few years, where Malcolm had apparently stayed quite well. Finally he found what he was looking for. It took several moments for Trip to understand what he was looking at. The notes were terse, written in medical short hand. As he scrolled through the records he began to piece together events. Malcolm had been brought in by ambulance with his cousin, who was dead on arrival, but Malcolm had refused to stop doing CPR. It had taken three adult men had to pull the one, slight teenager off his cousin and forcibly sedate him. He had refused to tell the emergency personnel that he was injured, but at the hospital he was discovered to have a fractured rib. He was bleeding into his chest, but wouldn't tell emergency personnel how he'd been injured. At the hospital there had been an emergency procedure to put in a chest tube, followed by a week in the hospital. He'd been discharged, and then readmitted a day later. Another week in the hospital, and finally he'd been discharged. The daily note had commented that he'd gone home with a maternal aunt. More ominously, there was a report, buried behind more warning screens, of an incident at the hospital involving Malcolm, his father, and his uncle. The older Reeds had been banned from Malcolm's hospital room for the remainder of his stay. Trip shook his head. He had known that Malcolm's relationship with his father was strained, but he had thought that it was the normal father-son tension, heightened by the fact that Malcolm had refused to enter the British Royal Navy, in favor of joining Starfleet . Trip had never suspected this level of strife.

Trip needed a mental break. He backed out of the hospital records, and returned to more general searches of the public databases. An article written eight days after the accident chilled Trip:

_Police were called to 111 Lane St at 3:30 PM for what neighbors initially described as a 'domestic disturbance', but the responding police officer, Sergeant Cowell, hastened to explain was a 'home accident. Malcolm Reed, 16, was taken to hospital by emergency personnel. His father, Captain Stuart Reed, explained to police that the younger Reed had been released from hospital yesterday, following an incident that had resulted in his cousin's death a week prior. According to Captain Reed, the young man was still on pain medication, causing him to become lightheaded and stumble on a landing, reinjuring himself. He was transported to the hospital as a precaution. __A police spokesman described the initial report of a domestic disturbance as 'a misunderstanding', and a 'personal matter'. Captain Reed was described by police spokesman as 'a highly decorated naval officer who is an upstanding member of our community'. Neighbors declined to speak to reporters._

Trip found the article ominous. The subtext was clear. Something had happened at the Reed household, but no one had wanted to be responsible for taking on the powerful senior Reed, with his political and naval connections. Trip's heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty. This was uglier than he'd imagined. When he'd begun looking into this on Phlox behalf, he had expected to find an unpleasant incident, but nothing this ugly. Malcolm had never breathed so much as a hint about these painful events until his drugged confession; to Trip that spoke volumes. He doubted the armory officer would ever forgive this terrible invasion of his privacy, but Trip had already come too far. He had to continue.

Unhappily Trip returned to the medical database. Records about Malcolm's second visit to the hospital, only a day after the first discharge, were inexplicably missing. An hour of intense searching later, frequently using his powerful password, were fruitless. He uncovered locatins where he suspected the records had been, but they'd been expunged, somehow. Trip felt gooseflesh break out. In this day and age, such manipulation of records was unheard of. High political powers had to have been involved. The implications were dire.

An idea struck Trip. He scrolled quickly through the records, moving forward in time. Finally he found what he sought. The Starfleet entry physical. His eyes moved to the list of pre-existing medical conditions. He read through the routine entries, noted the pineapple allergy, highlighted in red, and then moved to the next page. Finally he found what he was looking for under the Past Medical History section. The file mentioned multiple fractured ribs, and a hemothorax treated with a chest tube, injuries that had been previously noted. There was nothing else there. He was momentarily disappointed, but then he looked back. Multiple fractured ribs. He keyed back to the earlier records when Malcolm had first been brought into the hospital. One broken rib. A serious fracture that had caused the hemothorax, but only one rib. Somewhere along the line Malcolm had acquired two more broken ribs—and there was no record of how it had happened. Somehow, on the first day home after being hospitalized for a week, Malcolm had managed to break two more ribs. Combined with the cryptic record of the 'domestic disturbance' and the fact that Malcolm had gone home with an aunt, not his family, and it was obvious something terrible had occurred. Trip was ready to quit, but noted a flashing alert. While he'd been pursuing the medical records, the computer had continued an earlier search in the background, and now it alerted him that something had been found. His queries had uncovered another news article, this one dated two weeks after Malcolm's second hospitalization.

_The British Royal Navy today announced the promotion of Captain Stuart Reed to the rank of Rear Admiral. The announcement falls just two days after the selection of Admiral James Bigelow to head the British detachment to the newly formed Starfleet Command, headquartered in San Francisco, California, USA. Captain (P) Reed will take over the position as Chief Military Advisor to the Prime Minister. The choice was lauded at the highest levels of government. A reception will be held for Admiral Bigelow and Captain(P) Reed next month, at an undisclosed location. _

No mention of newly minted Admiral's family, or the recent tragedy.

It explained the hospital's unwillingness to cross the senior Reed-- news of his impending promotion undoubtedly had leaked out, and he would have friends in high places. Trip didn't like to think what that must have meant for Malcolm. The images his mind was dredging up were ugly and he felt ill. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he moved rapidly to the head. He managed to gain control of his stomach, but he was shuddering. Did Phlox know what was in the missing records? Trip had very high level access, thanks to Admiral Forrest. He doubted Phlox, an alien, would have been able to obtain as high a level, let alone higher. But if the doctor knew about Malcolm's past, Trip fully understood Phlox reluctance to mention any of this. This information could not be made public. Malcolm would be beyond mortified. He had spent a lifetime burying these hurts, fiercely protecting his dignity. What would it do to him if his secrets were abruptly revealed, and his cloak of privacy was stripped away. It couldn't happen. Trip now fully understood why Phlox was unwilling to keep the secret, even at the cost of his position with Starfleet.

Trip had one last task to perform, before he could close the medical records for, he hoped, the last time. He hastily backed out of Malcolm's records, and logged into Ensign Carey's file. Skimming through them he saw that she had a history of back pain and back spasms going back to her teenage years. A horseback riding accident had fractured two vertebra in her back. She had been on treated for exacerbations of her pain on multiple occasions. Phlox had been giving her therapy with one of his more slimy creature's saliva, and she had been making progress, but had still been prone to severe spasms- especially after traumas. It was one more piece in the puzzle.

Trip desperately wanted to take a shower, to feel clean and let the warm water wash away the unpleasant scenes his active imagination had recreated. He needed to talk with Malcolm but the thought gave him butterflies, and he needed to be in a calmer frame of mind. When he spoke with the armory officer he would need to be clearheaded and unemotional. He should talk to Phlox first, he realized. Armed with his new knowledge, he might be able to coax Phlox into filling in the details. Perhaps together they could come up with a strategy for approaching Malcolm. He moved to the intercom, preparing to call sickbay. He jumped when a burst of static came through the intercom before he had pushed the transmit button.

"Commander Tucker, this is Captain Archer."

Trip's brow wrinkled. He was off-duty, and Archer did not sound like this was a social call. "Yes, Captain."

"Commander, please come to my ready room. Phlox is here. He has offered his resignation from Enterprise." Even over the intercom Archer's displeasure was clear. Trip was stunned.

"Captain, you can't let him—I need to talk to him, Captain!"

"Yes. You do." Archer's voice was tart. "Please come up to my ready room."

Trip had known Archer for many years, and he knew when the captain was working hard to control his temper, and this was one of those times. Who he was angry at was unclear. Trip suspected Malcolm and Phlox were currently vying for top spot on the captain's list. Not wanting to add his own name, he simply replied, "Yes, sir."

* * *

Archer faced the doctor across his desk. Phlox was his usual unflappable self. In contrast Archer's mind was racing, uncertain where to begin.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I can't let this go on any longer. I am going to resign from the Starfleet Medical Exchange Program. With my resignation, the hearing need not continue. I'll stipulate that I made a poor decision, that I should have triaged Ensign Carey first. While she likely would not have survived, my decision was wrong," Phlox told Archer.

Archer tilted his head to the side and squinted at the doctor. "Do you really believe that?"

Phlox smiled sadly. "I believe that Ensign Carey was critically injured, and that I missed it. In retrospect, she should have been triaged first, and scanned first. Whether she would have lived or not is impossible to say. "

"That doesn't sound very convincing to me, Doctor," Archer said. "Command Tucker is convinced you had good reasons for making the decisions you did."

"Perhaps so, Captain. But it doesn't change the fact that my decision was wrong. More importantly, this hearing is tearing the crew apart. I can't be responsible for that. With my stipulation to my error, the hearing can end, and the ship can get back to normal. "

"Only one problem with that," Archer said dryly.

"Captain?"

"It's not the truth. At least, not the whole truth. This is the first hearing I've held on Enterprise, and I certainly don't want a precedent on my ship that we place expediency over the truth."

"Captain, you're opening what I believe Commander Tucker would refer to as 'a can of worms'. You don't know the whole story. People could get hurt."

"Doctor," Archer interrupted. "I can't stop you from resigning. But the hearing will proceed. I'll not have a member of my crew—and you are a member of my crew, Doctor—made a scapegoat. Your resignation will be accepted at the conclusion of the hearing, if you wish to offer it then. As the hearing judge, I don't accept your stipulation of wrongdoing. I have a responsibility to make sure the integrity of the hearing is preserved."

"Captain—" Phlox tried.

"You're dismissed, Doctor." Archer rose. At the same moment a soft chime told him someone was at the door. Before he could answer, Trip barged in.

"Captain! I've got to talk to you!" Trip skidded to a halt, noticing the doctor.

"I took the liberty of asking Commander Tucker, as your defense counsel, to join us. Commander, I've already told the doctor that the hearing will continue. "

Trip crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his 'client'. "Thank you, Captain. I wonder, could I talk to the doctor for a moment? You're the judge, so I'm not sure you should be listening to this."

"Agreed. I'll be on the bridge. I'm going to let Malcolm know that the hearing is going to resume the day after tomorrow." Archer's gaze travelled between the two, and then settled back on the doctor. "We'll discuss your 'resignation' after the hearing doctor." Archer stepped around the desk and side-stepped Trip. At the door he turned and added, "I'll be wanting my ready room back."

Trip grinned at him, but as soon as the captain was gone, the grin faded. He turned to the doctor. "You should have called me, Doc. We could talk about this."

"There's nothing to discuss, Commander. You're determined to get to the bottom of what you consider a mystery. I think your efforts are going to result in a lot of needless pain. I'd rather admit guilt, and resign. This matter can be put to rest and Enterprise can resume exploring the galaxy, and not be bothered any longer with this business."

"Without you, you mean."

"Yes, well that would be part and parcel of resigning."

"It's not the right answer, Doc. I know why you don't want the hearing to go on. I know you're protecting Malcolm. I've been investigating—"

"I know," Phlox put in dryly.

"—and I get why you don't want to drag up all that past stuff, but there has to be a way. Malcolm won't like it, but I need you to fill in some holes. Not medical stuff," he added hastily. "Just other information. And then we'll talk with Malcolm. Off the record. Maybe we can get him to agree to what can be brought out at the hearing. A compromise. He's going to hate me, regardless of what we do, but maybe we can minimize the damage."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Phlox and Trip were in the engineer's quarters. It was more private, and more comfortable, than chatting in sickbay. Phlox had called Cutler and asked her to cover sickbay and notify him if there were any emergencies. With much of the crew on down time, it had been fairly quiet. Trip offered Phlox a drink and a snack. The doctor accepted a hot cup of tea, while Trip made a cup of coffee. Once they were comfortably settled, Trip started. "I've been investigating. I was able to get into Malcolm's medical records."

"Hmmm. You're very thorough, Commander."

Trip nodded, not adding anything.

Phlox sighed. "I wish you hadn't done this. It would be much easier for everyone if I just left the Exchange Program quietly.

Trip shook his head. "It'd be easier, but it wouldn't be right. And Doc, it's not just about you. Malcolm can't go around blaming every doctor for something that happened years ago."

"That is true. But he has good reason." Phlox paused, stopped to take a long sip of his tea. He closed his eyes and savored the warmth, allowed himself a moment of calm, before opening his eyes to continue. "The lieutenant has an interesting medical history," Phlox began.

Trip snorted. "That's an understatement."

"Which has resulted in him not trusting doctors. And with good reason. " Phlox added.

Trip sobered. "I know. He told me about his cousin."

Phlox eyes widened. "He told you about his cousin?"

Trip nodded. "He told me that his cousin died after he had a seizure from a brain tumor. The doctor didn't believe his cousin had anything wrong with him, and he drowned when he had the seizure while he was swimming. Malcolm says he gave CPR, but they couldn't get him to a hospital in time. But that doesn't match up with what I've found in my snooping. " Trip tried for a light tone, but it fell flat.

Phlox had been listening intently. He tipped his head to the side. "Is that all he said? Did he mention his injuries, or the hospital? "

Trip snorted again. "His injuries? Of course not. He made it sound like he was fine. He said he was giving his cousin CPR. The hospital records show he was injured, though."

Phlox wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and took another long sip. "I think you got a rather sanitized version, Commander. I might be crossing a line here," Phlox added softly, "but you've got most of the information already. What I can add is what I've learned from a close friend of mine. Dr. Blair Smythe, the human doctor that is on Denobula right now. Before he left we corresponded and exchanged information we thought might be helpful. He's British. He was working at the hospital Malcolm was taken to when his cousin died. He was a young doctor, fresh out of medical school, but he never forgot the episode. In fact, he tried to get his superiors to do something about the situation, but they were subject to political pressures. When they wouldn't intervene, he was so disturbed that he transferred out, and went to work for Starfleet. When he learned I was going to be on Enterprise, he provided me the background information he thought I might need but wouldn't be able to get from the medical records. He suspected they'd been tampered with."

Trip jumped in. "He was right. There's a big chunk missing, from what I could tell."

Phlox studied Trip for a moment before continuing, mildly surprised that the engineer had been able to get that deeply into the hospital records. Smythe had told him how deeply the incident had been buried. Trip's attention remained riveted on the doctor. Phlox continued. "The lieutenant was severely injured. He nearly died. He wouldn't allow anyone to help him until they'd taken care of his cousin, despite the fact that Brian was beyond help."

Trip lifted his eyebrows. Malcolm's story had been very different from the one Phlox was telling. "The autopsy report said that his cousin had a broken neck, but Malcolm said his cousin died because they didn't get him to a hospital in time," Trip offered.

"I'm sure that is what Lieutenant Reed believes." Phlox voice was certain.

"What did happen?" Trip asked.

Phlox was slightly more at ease, knowing Malcolm had confided, at least partially, in Trip. He wasn't giving out any medical information that the engineer hadn't found on his own. "His cousin had a brain tumor that hadn't been diagnosed. He and Malcolm went camping, despite Brian not being well. He was having increasing neurological symptoms. His doctor was terribly negligent in not pursuing those symptoms. I believe he was censured."

Trip nodded, not interrupting.

"The boys decided to go for a swim in a lake near the campsite. Apparently Brian had been a competitive swimmer, and very good, before his illness, and Malcolm was a competent swimmer. They went in the water. There was a floating platform on the lake. They swam out to it, and while they were lounging on the float, Brian had a generalized seizure-- what used to be called a grand mal seizure. Malcolm tried to prevent him from falling off the platform, but Brian was bigger and stronger. During his seizure he struck or kicked Malcolm in the chest and broke a rib. Brian rolled off the platform, and in a freak accident he hit his head on an underwater rock and broke his neck. He probably died instantly. Of course, there was no way for Malcolm to know that. He went in after his cousin and managed to drag him the hundred feet back to the shore, where he started CPR. A couple hiking by the lake spotted him and called for help. They tried to get Malcolm to stop CPR, because it was obvious that Brian was dead. Malcolm wouldn't stop, or let the medics help him, until they got Brian to the hospital. As soon as they arrived at the hospital Brian was pronounced dead. The autopsy found the broken neck, and the meningioma-"

"The what?" Trip interrupted.

"The meningioma. It's a tumor of the lining of the brain," Phlox explained before continuing. "By the time they were at that hospital, Malcolm's lung had collapsed. The broken rib had become displaced, probably due to the exertion of dragging his cousin to shore and doing CPR, and it lacerated an artery. The bleeding in his chest collapsed the lung. He'd also severely sprained his ankle dragging Brian to the shore. By the time they got to the hospital Malcolm was exhausted and in shock. The doctors had to put in a chest tube to drain the blood and reexpand the lung. He was in the hospital for a week." Phlox had been speaking matter-of-factly, but now he shook his head sadly, "Apparently, his uncle blamed Malcolm for Brian's death. Said Malcolm should never have agreed to go camping and never should have let Brian go swimming, completely ignoring the fact that Brian outweighed Malcolm by twenty pounds and that he himself had accused Brian of malingering and told him to get off his ass. He accused Malcolm of not getting Brian out of the water quickly enough, and of not doing CPR correctly. Said Malcolm was more worried about his own injuries, and was a weakling. Malcolm's father took his brother's side, not his son's. There was an incident in the hospital and the uncle had to be removed from Malcolm's room. Malcolm wouldn't tell anyone what happened, but he had a bruised check that hadn't been there when he was admitted. Malcolm's father left with his brother. That was on the morning after Brian's death. No one visited after that."

Phlox stood up, agitated, and began pacing around Trip's cabin. "A sixteen year old boy was grieving, injured and in pain, and his family blamed and abandoned him. They lived fifteen minutes away, and not one person came to see him. When he was discharged from the hospital, he was sent home in a cab. He was readmitted the next day. My friend couldn't tell me anything else. Apparently everything was hush-hush. Malcolm went to live with an aunt and uncle on his mother's side. Two years later he joined Starfleet."

"It's really no wonder Malcolm doesn't trust doctors," Trip commented, stunned. His own investigation had been disturbing, but this new information made him wonder how Malcolm had managed to survive sixteen years with his father. "You know, when he came back to the hospital he had two new cracked ribs, but there are no records about what happened."

"My friend didn't know about that. But since that time Lieutenant Reed had never voluntarily seen a doctor, until he came on Enterprise."

Trip stared at the doctor. "What do ya mean? He'd have to, wouldn't he? I mean, to get into Starfleet he had to have a physical, and annual physicals, and I'm sure he gets sick sometimes, everybody does."

Phlox shook his head. "I said voluntarily. He did the Starfleet physical, or he couldn't have joined, but he had to be threatened with disciplinary action to make his annual physicals."

Phlox fell silent. He picked up his cold mug and took it over to the sink. He emptied the cold beverage, and then moved over to the water heater. He got a fresh tea bag and filled the mug with hot water. When he'd added a little sweetener and lemon, he returned to his seat. "Hoshi and Lieutenant Reed convinced me to try this beverage. I thought it an odd at first, but I've grown to enjoy it. I find it very relaxing." He glanced at Trip. "I actually took pride in the fact that Lieutenant Reed sought medical care from me on occasion. I had thought it was because I was Denobulan and so perhaps there weren't so many negative associations. And then all this happened."

Trip had been reflecting. "Malcolm doesn't like water," he said thoughtfully.

"He doesn't? Well, it would make sense, wouldn't it?" Phlox replied.

"Yeah. He's never mentioned it, but whenever we're close to water, he stays as far away from it as he can. I just thought he couldn't swim, or something. "

Phlox sighed. "You know, the lieutenant can be infuriating, and stubborn. I sometimes forget what he's been through."

Trip looked up, but Phlox shook his head. "No, no more. All I will say is that because Lieutenant Reed does not trust doctors, on more than one occasion he has had serious injuries go unreported and untreated until they became life-threatening. He has become very proficient in self treatment. I could probably hire him as a medic." Phlox managed a wan smile at the thought, but it quickly faded. He continued. "When the shuttlepod accident occurred, and the lieutenant had an obviously dislocated shoulder, I was concerned he was hiding more serious injuries. Ensign Carey had a history of back pain, and I thought she had aggravated an old injury. Lieutenant Reed is right in one regard-- I focused on him, and I didn't give Ensign Carey's complaint enough credence. "

Trip sat silent. Phlox had known too much about both Reed and Carey, and he'd used that information to formulate his triage decisions. Entirely rational at the time—but it had turned out wrong. Could anyone blame the doctor? He was only… well, not human, but humanoid. Prone to error. He'd had to make a decision during a crisis, and he did. They could second guess the doctor forever, but they hadn't been in his shoes. Trip was resolute in his determination to defend the doctor. He just didn't know how he could do it without destroying Malcolm.


End file.
